


The Scarlet Door

by jurassicqueer (GayQueenOfHell)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Child Abuse, Depression, F/F, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Iwaizumi can see ghosts, Iwaizumi is tired and everything hurts, M/M, Multi, Oikawa is sad and everything hurts, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Serious Injuries, Suga is genderfluid, Trans Male Hinata, Trans girl Yachi, Ushijima is causing problems and he doesn't even mean to, Violence, don't worry about the major character death warning, everything works out, i'll add tags as i go, they both need help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayQueenOfHell/pseuds/jurassicqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booting ghosts out of the human world and into the spirit realm isn't an easy job, but someone has to do it. Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, dying and being resuscitated is an automatic sign-up on a volunteer sheet straight from hell- literally.</p><p>But things are different when he meets Oikawa Tooru- for one thing, he's never met someone who can attract so many different spirits in the span of a few months.</p><p>However, when he decides to investigate, things are so much more different than what he ever could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Beginning There Was Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is a weird format ONLY FOR THE FIRST CHAPTER it'll go back to normal for the next few, this is just an introduction of sorts.
> 
> anyway thank you so much to maddy! my sweet sweet beta and girlfriend! you're the best ever!!!!!  
> and Josee you're an asshole and the only reason this got finished even remotely in this century
> 
> I will add tags as I see fit

Iwaizumi has dealt with a lot of shit. He was a soldier, for crying out loud- now he teaches high school students, but sometimes he can’t tell which is the more dangerous battleground- and he fucking _died, okay,_ but that’s not usually something he brings up at dinner parties.

 

(Daichi teases him and says he doesn’t have enough friends to ever be invited

to a dinner party. Most of Iwaizumi’s friends are dead.)

 

He has _acquaintances_ \- Daichi snorted his drink out of his nose at that wording- but most of them are due to his _side job._

Which, of course, is the “being dead but still kicking” part that was mentioned earlier.

It started four years ago; three weeks after he died and was resuscitated. He saw his first ghost, crawling along the walls of the airport as he waited in customs.

A common misconception people have about ghosts is that they look like people, only see through- initially, Iwaizumi has discovered, they do. If you can catch them right after they die, before they become warped or pass on, they look just like how they died (and yes, they are see through).

However, the longer a spirit lingers and refuses to pass on, the more it becomes warped. After a certain point, most spirits resemble shadows instead of their physical appearances in life.

The spirit following him in the airport looked like a too long shadow with claws that caught and pulled it along. All through his check out Iwaizumi could see it out the corner of his eye- it seemed to edge closer each time Iwaizumi took his eyes off it too long.

It took most of his willpower not to ask the old man next to him if he could see the shadow too, and he could feel chills racing up and down his arms the whole time. The pain in his chest got more intense the closer the shadow got.

Once he stepped into the hot summer air Iwaizumi felt relief as the pain subsided and the shadow disappeared. He figured it didn’t have anything to grip on the hot pavement and unwisely assumed it was gone.

Of course, at the time he had no idea it was the spirit of a child who had been caught in the same explosion that had killed Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi’s navy blue Yukon was sitting in the parking lot where Kindaichi promised to leave it, and he settled in it with a relieved sigh. It smelled like Oberyn, even after all this time, and Iwaizumi felt a smile curl on his face as he remembered that he would see his dog again after three long months.

It was about this time, as he slid his key into the ignition, that things began to go rather oddly.

The first thing he remembers is a cold flooding through his throat and chest to intense that he can’t breath for a long moment.

The next thing he remembers is a harsh grating noise and a flash of heat and _burning_ and _screaming-_ and he sees a small child’s lifeless, burnt body, and bile starts churning in his throat.

And then a sound that _definitely_ should be too high to be heard by humans slices through Iwaizumi’s eardrums and he can suddenly breathe again, the painful cold gone.

He curls in on himself and gasps in air greedily. Strange noises and warped voices buzz in his ears and he can only hope that whatever caused the noise that released him from the cold is on his side.

And then someone taps on his car window and he _jumps a fucking foot into the air._

He looks up so quickly his neck creaks ominously and for a second all he sees is a black blur and he’s so worried it’s the shadow thing again- he can still hear the screams- but its just a pretty woman, and he tries to relax.

“Are you alright?” She asks, and for a moment Iwaizumi wordlessly takes her in- straight black hair, a beauty mark under her eye, glasses- before responding.

“’M alright,” He says hoarsely, and wishes he didn’t sound like he smoked three packs a day.

The woman considers him for a few moments longer before nodding.

“I suppose you’ll be alright,” She says, and holds out a slip of paper.

“You’re neither stupid nor oblivious. Here is my number; I just expelled a spirit that was haunting you from this realm, and as you can now see the spirits, more will come after you. I advise you contact me in the near future.” Iwaizumi takes the paper with shaking hands and a myriad of confusion swimming behind his eyes in dull purples and blues- the colour of bruises.

The woman levels another silent appraisal of him before sighing quietly out of her nose.

“You should also eat some chocolate and drink something hot,” She says, before motioning to her chest, “it will help ease the cold.”

With that, she turns and walks away, heels clicking quietly on the hot pavement of the airport lot. For a moment all Iwaizumi can do is stare down at the torn piece of paper in his hand. It is only the insistent ache in his chest that forces him to move, to tuck the paper in his breast pocket, to turn the key the rest of the way in the ignition and pull out.

He tries to keep from thinking of the shadow and the strange woman and the images of the burning child, but they press insistently into the forefront of his mind, and he can only handle so much. He pulls into the first gas station he finds and buys the newest CD of rock he can find- some band called Fall Out Boy- that he plays as loud as he can in his car stereo.

The wind screams into his car through his open windows as he cruises down the highway but it mingles with the music in a way that has no cadence or tone. The smell of cows and open fields and warm, summer nights drifts into his window and for once Iwaizumi can inhale without smelling death and sweat and fear.

He turns down the music- which is actually quite good- as he rolls into his hometown. The houses all around him are dark on the outside but warmly lit behind thin curtains, and laughter reaches him from behind locked doors.

His home is silent, but a light is on, and a fondness for Kindaichi grows in his stomach. The younger man had always known how much he hated coming home to a dark house.

Mounting desire to see Oberyn speeds up his steps to his front door, bags hooked on elbows and draped over shoulders haphazardly.

When he finally gets his door unlocked- shadows tickling the corners of his eyes and whispering along the gutters distract him- he can manage only one step inside before an armful of German Shepard nearly sends him tumbling over. Oberyn covers his face with licks before Iwaizumi can draw breath; his tongue is rough, but it feels like home.

Its not until the door clicks shut behind him that he feels at ease.

For the next several hours, well into the night, Iwaizumi becomes reacquainted with his home. His shower still works as well as ever (something he spent quite a while “reacquainting” himself with) and his kitchen is organized and spotless, just how he left it.

But something changed, between when he got home and after he showered, and he can’t figure out what.

It’s not until Oberyn snarls at the empty shadows in his living room that he realizes what it is.

Iwaizumi roots through his crumpled uniform until he finds that tiny piece of paper, but pauses as he dials it into his phone.

 _Ghosts,_ he thinks disbelievingly. _Ghosts._

Iwaizumi is not a superstitious man. He doesn’t believe in a god, or an afterlife. He doesn’t see monsters in the shadows; he knows where the real monsters are, on the battlefield and behind guns, and they’re not prone to crawling through the shadows.

But as he remembers the claws stretched across the airport walls like blood splatters and the (shamefully) familiar screams of a burning child, he feels a curl of doubt grow in his chest.

He dials the number.

_“This is Kyioko speaking. I’m assuming you have some questions for me, Iwaizumi Hajime. Would you like to get some coffee sometime soon?”_

__

Oikawa Tooru likes to pretend he’s handling life well.

In reality, things could be a whole lot worse.

 

(Of course, that doesn’t reassure Suga at all, and Oikawa has learned to keep quiet about the pains in his chest and all his sleepless nights. The shadows under Suga’s eyes are almost as dark as his own at this point.)

 

He has a job he loves- teenagers are as endearing and amusing as they were when he was one himself- and a nice apartment. He’s got some of the best friends in the world, an adoring pet, and is on relatively good terms with his family.

Considering what could have happened to him, he’s on excellent footing with life.

(Excellent footing meaning he’s relieved to wake up every morning on his too small couch and enjoys every smile someone sends his way, no matter what.)

 

Oikawa likes to pretend it didn’t take him three surgeries to repair his ACL and a heart transplant to learn to think this way.

To be honest, it actually wasn’t the ACL surgeries that convinced him to think this way about life (only volleyball). However, the heart transplant certainly did.

 

(Kuroo likes to tell him it gave him a “change of heart”. The first time Suga heard him say that a sociology book gave Kuroo a black eye for at least a week.)

 

            Oikawa Tooru, age fourteen, was admitted to his hometown hospital at approximately 7:03 p.m. for an ACL tear that- literally- crippled him in the last minute of his Sectional volleyball game. The entire team gathered in the waiting room anxiously, first place trophy forgotten in one of the parent’s cars.

The correctional surgery went horribly wrong, and the following six months were a myriad of arduous physical therapy meetings and _pain._

The following surgery only corrected the mistakes of the first surgery, and Oikawa was once again restrained to the sidelines, feeling a kind of loneliness and uselessness he had hoped to never feel again.

It wasn’t until the third surgery- after over a year and a half of physical therapy and restricted activity- that he could return to the court. Even with the pain and the stiffness and how out of practice he was, the court hadn’t forgotten him.

The first year back he pushed himself and his team to claim first for States and met his first scout.

“Your ACL surgery and rehabilitation is, of course, a slight issue, but we can probably work around it,” The woman had said, all smiles and polite handshakes, and naïve Oikawa didn’t understand what she meant.

“Why would that be a problem? I completed my therapy, and the third surgery worked,” He said, fidgeting in his sweaty uniform and trying to keep weight off his achy knee. The woman looked at him with slight pity.

“Mr. Oikawa, you suffered a career debilitating injury that you will never fully recover from- I was made privy to your medical files, and the doctor stated themselves that it was unlikely you would heal completely,” She said, and Oikawa felt something akin to nausea start to curl in his stomach.

 _I’m pretty sure that’s not legal,_ he thinks uneasily, and steps back from the scout.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go speak to my mother! Send her an email and we can talk again!” He says, already turning to go, tossing his customary award -winning smile over his shoulder.

He heard her call out to him but he was already halfway across the gym, and tucked himself against his mother’s side with the resolve to think carefully about this proposal, and any to follow.

Two months later the chest pains began.

Three months later he met Ushijima.

Four months later he fainted for the first time.

It happened as he walked home with Yahaba from practice. The underclassman was enthusiastic and sweet and hardworking, and Oikawa felt a fondness for him that prompted him to help the budding setter.

The sun was beating down uncomfortably on them through the muggy September air. The heat dwelled between the small homes persistently and Oikawa could feel the sweat sticking to him unpleasantly.

His vision swam along the pavement like carp. Yahaba’s eyes were crinkled in concern and he looked conflicted, hand reaching out every few moments before retracting to his side again.

The last thing he remembers before the world goes black is the ache in his chest and Yahaba’s scared eyes.

When Oikawa comes to he’s inside his house on his coach and Yahaba is gently placing a cold clothe on his head.

The younger boy lets out a squeak as Oikawa sits up quickly and breathes in a startled breath, a hand coming up absently to rub at the ache in his chest.

“What happened?” He asks, and his throat sticks unpleasantly. Yahaba looks torn for a moment before getting up and retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen.

He sits down on the couch next to Oikawa when he returns and hands him the cup with shaking hands.

“You passed out on the sidewalk,” Yahaba says, and glances down at his hands.

“I didn’t know what to do- I thought it was from the heat- I brought you inside and was gonna call an ambulance if you didn’t come to- and I- I-“ Oikawa laid a gentle hand on Yahaba’s arm in an attempt to coax him out of an oncoming panic attack.

“It’s fine, Yahaba. I wasn’t hurt- I didn’t hit my head, did I?” He asks, and Yahaba shakes his head hurriedly. Oikawa smiles up at him after taking another sip from the glass.

“Than no harm done- I just couldn’t handle this heat wave is all, and I’m tired. No need to worry about it, okay?” Oikawa lets his smile stretch wider, because Yahaba still looks scared.

No matter what happened today and made him faint- whether it was the heat or the strange feeling in his chest- he couldn’t let Yahaba tell anyone. Oikawa refused to end up in the hospital again, and he refused to leave his team now, when they were so close to beating Ushijima.

That night Oikawa and Yahaba held a Lord of the Rings marathon and Yahaba insisted on getting everything for Oikawa for the whole night.

 

(Oikawa didn’t mind as long as Yahaba calmed down.)

 

When his underclassman fell asleep leaned against his shoulder, Oikawa decided to pause the Return of the King and call it a night, happy to stay on the couch and share it with Yahaba.

That was his last peaceful night for a long time.

After that the chest pains became more common and he found himself out of breath far too fast for how fit he was.

\----

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” Kuroo says from the door of Oikawa’s bathroom, watching his best friend heave into the toilet. Oikawa threw the most poisonous glare he could muster over his shoulder before he vomited again.

“You could help,” Oikawa gasped as he braced his trembling hands against the toilet bowl and Kuroo sighed. He knelt next to Tooru and gently rubbed small circles into his back as he combed his hair out of his face with his other hand.

“Why am I the asshole?” Oikawa asks a few minutes later, face tucked into the crook of his elbow. Kuroo sighed again.

“Why won’t you just tell your mom? And your coach? You shouldn’t be sick like this,” Kuroo says, and Oikawa was shaking his head before his best friend even finished speaking.

“Can’t burden them,” Oikawa pants, “And they’ll make me stop playing volleyball- I’m not gonna do that again, not ever,” Kuroo glares at the top of his head.

“And what if this could be fixed? If you just told them? You’re being an asshole to me and Yahaba and everyone else on the team- and at school. We’re all terrified you’re dying and you refuse to tell an adult or go to the hospital because of a fucking sport- don’t look at me like that, Tooru,” Kuroo snarls, hand fisting in Oikawa’s shirt as the other boy glares up at him.

“You know I’m fucking right- you know it and you won’t accept it because you’re _so fucking stubborn-_ Tooru, when was the last meal you kept down?” Kuroo nearly shouts, “Your last full night of sleep? The last time you could run and work out and your chest didn’t hurt, or you didn’t start panting like a kicked dog?” Oikawa stares wordlessly at Kuroo for a long moment. He bites his lip hard and Kuroo wonders for a moment if he crossed a line, but then- to his horror- Oikawa’s eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I don’t know,” He says, and he tries so hard to keep his voice steady, and Kuroo can feel his throat close up, “I don’t know but I can’t lose volleyball again- please, Tetsurou, you don’t understand, I- I can’t go back to the hospital, not again,” And Oikawa’s voice breaks at the same time Kuroo wraps him in a tight hug. He hooks his chin over Oikawa’s head as the other boy’s frame shudders in his arms.

“You’re wrong,” Kuroo says quietly, his fingers gently tracing lines on Tooru’s neck, “I do understand, I know what it’s like. I know why you don’t want to tell anyone. But Tooru, I- I’m scared.” Oikawa stills in Kuroo’s arms as he takes a deep breath.

“I knew you were overworking your knee. I could tell. You limped off the court after practice and games. You got a new brace. But I didn’t say anything, I didn’t- I didn’t stop you, and I should have,” Kuroo pulls back slightly and cups Oikawa’s wet cheek in his hand.

“I fucked up once, and- no, don’t say anything, I don’t give a fuck if someone else should have noticed first or that stupid shit- I fucked up once and I don’t want to do it again.” Kuroo’s eyes were unrelenting and unsettling- Oikawa can’t remember his best friend ever looking so intensely at him, and it was different from his usual relaxed attitude.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Oikawa says weakly, wiping at his nose half-heartedly, and Kuroo snorts.

“Yep, and you don’t own a single skirt- lets just lie the rest of the night, hm?” But Oikawa laughs, albeit weakly, and Kuroo considers it a win.

“Now brush your teeth you lame fucker, your breath is killing me,” Kuroo says, poking Oikawa’s forehead, and he makes a face at Kuroo but gets to his feet shakily and moves to the sink.

The next time Kuroo comes over he wakes up at four in the morning to the sound of Oikawa heaving.

____

Oikawa’s chest hurts- _badly-_ and he doesn’t have the time nor breath to deal with this.

“I don’t understand why you don’t transfer,” Ushijima says, and Oikawa tries to look at anything but the huge bruise on his rival’s face.

“I only have a few months left in school,” Tooru says, and Ushijima shakes his head.

“You should transfer and play on our team- we’d go to Nationals, I’m sure of it; don’t you want that?” He asks, and takes a step closer.

Oikawa just shakes his head, struggling to ignore the dizziness that’s wreaking havoc on his balance. In the distance he hears Kuroo yell his name and takes a step back towards the parking lot.

“Oikawa, I think-“ Ushijima pauses and looks at Oikawa again with concern.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, and Oikawa shakes his head again fervently.

“I’m fine, I-“ He absently fists his hand in his jacket above his chest and struggles to take a deep breath. Oikawa takes a few stumbling steps back away from Ushijima towards Kuroo’s voice, but suddenly realizes he’s not sure which way that is.

A hand grips his arm abruptly as the world tilts and dips. Ushijima’s face is closer than it was before and then the ground is firm and unrelenting underneath him. He hears Ushijima’s voice around the hurried pounding in his ears as if from a great distance.

“I can’t- my chest-“ Oikawa gasps, curling in on himself as the pain in his chest doubles and the pressure on his lungs grow. Firm hands pull his knees away from his torso and straighten him out and suddenly people are all around him.

 _“Call an ambulance!”_ Reaches Oikawa’s ears from far away and he struggles to call out and tell them he’s fine, it’s alright, but he can’t stop the coughs wracking him and all he can do is try and breathe around the pain in his chest.

His field of vision gets smaller and smaller until there’s only a tiny tunnel of light at the end of a long, long hall, and Ushijima’s bruised face fills it before everything goes black.

_What’s going on?_

\----

“Tooru, baby, the doctors say its- its- heart failure. Your heart is weakened, and um- it’s not working how it should be.”

Oikawa refuses to roll over and look his mother in the eyes. He knows she’s trying her best. He knows she’s doing everything she possibly can. He knows.

_Why me? Why me? Why me?_

\----

“Mr. Oikawa, due to the severity of your heart failure and otherwise excellent health, your doctor has considered placing you on the potential transplant list. Before, however, you and your mother will have to answer a few questions. Can you do that?”

____

“Tooru, I brought the book you asked for. How’re you doing?” Kuroo settled into the chair next to Oikawa’s bed heavily. He always asked the same question when he visited his friend despite the rarity in an answer.

“Ah, Kuroo, a veritable ray of sunshine in my bleak world,” Oikawa says, throwing a strained smile at Kuroo.

But it was definitely a smile.

“How’re your lungs holding up with those tube things?” Kuroo asks, motioning at his face with his hands. Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

“My bronchi? Seeing as they’ve held up thus far, I’d assume they’re still fine,” He says dryly, and Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“Smartass,” He mutters, opening his book, and Oikawa sticks his tongue out at his best friend.

\----

They haven’t found a donor yet and everyone around Oikawa is nervous.

Tooru’s health continues to decline despite the aid of the hospital’s treatments and machines, but against all odds, he graduates with the rest of his class after two months in the hospital.

“I don’t even know how you do it, Oikawa!” Lev tells him excitedly one afternoon, perched at the foot of Oikawa’s hospital bed. The excited Russian boy was a bright light in the cold room.

Tooru waves away the compliment with his customary bright smile but it looks odd with his pale complexion and dark circles. Kuroo feels his chest tighten from where he’s sitting next to Yahaba.

\----

Oikawa isn’t sure what day it is that he finally gets a donor. He can’t even remember what the month is, either. Time passes strangely in the hospital room. He doesn’t sleep often, and when he does, it’s fitful and exhausting.

But he remembers it’s the early hours of the morning when the nurse rushes into his room.

“They’ve found a donor, Tooru! You have a donor!” She says excitedly, and it takes Oikawa a few moments to realize what she said.

The nurse isn’t perturbed by his confusion in the least, however, and continues on.

“It’s rather sad, actually; he was beat to death by his own father, which is so sad, but he’s almost a perfect fit for you! By mid-morning today you’ll be in surgery, and you’ll be able to get healthy again!” Oikawa stops listening after he hears the cause of death, and thinks of Ushijima for some reason.

\----

“Jesus, Oikawa, how much weight did you lose?” Kuroo asks, aghast at how much Tooru’s clothes hang off his shoulders.

“Quite a bit, but its no big deal! I’ve got a special diet and everything, I’ll be back to normal real quick! I might even be able to start college with you this year, too!” Oikawa’s smile is bright, and for once his eyes are alive enough for him to look how he used to.

\----

“Tooru, sweety, is it okay if the donor’s mother comes in to speak to you?” Oikawa’s mother asks him one afternoon. He’s released the day after next, and practically buzzing with excitement, but stills as soon as his mother mentions his donor.

“I want to speak to her,” He says, and his mother bites her lip and nods. She steps out of the room as another smaller woman enters. Her red-rimmed eyes are shockingly familiar.

“Oikawa Tooru,” She says, shakily, and Oikawa tries to muster up a small smile from his hospital bed.

“The one and only,” He tries weakly, and the woman smiles.

“I don’t know if you recognize me at all,” She says, and Oikawa feels a curl of something cold in his chest. He shakes his head slowly.

“Well,” She says, blinking her eyes rapidly as they fill with tears, “I’m Ushijima’s mother.”

\----

When Oikawa is released he finds Ushijima’s obituary immediately.

He was beat to death by his father while protecting his younger sister.

Oikawa misses his funeral.

\----

Despite the odds, Oikawa makes a full recovery and attends college that fall right alongside Kuroo. He ends up rooming with a kind, motherly type named Suga he met while in the hospital.

He doesn’t ever question why Oikawa wakes up some nights crying, or why he fears the dark shadows of the dorm room closet.

They do their best.

That’s all Oikawa’s ever done.


	2. Every Day Is A Monday Of Some Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi was going to throttle Kunimi and dump his body in a lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo so heres chapter 2! just a small note BUT PLEASE READ THIS  
> i have a soccer tournament next weekend and class all this week so idk if i'll be able to get a chapter out next weekend. for now the tentative publication date of my chapters will be the weekend.
> 
> again, thanks to my incredible amazing stunning beta and girlfriend maddy!!!! you're incredible  
> josee you're still an asshole but at least you're inspiration for Oikawa's outfits for the duration of this fic so i guess you're good for something

Iwaizumi’s phone shrieks an alarm from his back pocket just as he sets down the last box of his neighbor’s belongings. He offers a smile at the heavily pregnant woman and her wife as he pulls it out and waves away their thanks as he makes his way back along the sidewalk.

“Iwaizumi speaking,” He answers, and wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls out his keys.

 _“I need your help,”_ Kindaichi says. Iwaizumi sighs out of his nose and steps into his home once the door is unlocked.

“What did you do?” He asks, tossing his keys on his kitchen counter as he makes his way to his bedroom. He kicks his shoes under his bed and collapses onto the soft surface.

 _“I didn’t do anything. Kunimi offered your… services to someone who really needs them, and now he’s guilt tripping me. You gotta help his friend.”_ Iwaizumi groans loudly into his pillow as Kindaichi’s static voice settles and rolls onto his back.

“They’re not on the other side of the country, are they?” Iwaizumi asks, and sighs in relief once Kindaichi denies it.

 _“He actually lives here, in an apartment complex on the other side of town. I’ll text Kunimi later today and tell him he can send his friend over to your house?”_ For a moment, Iwaizumi considers declining and refusing to help this stranger. Then he thinks about his nightmares and shudders.

“Yeah, send him my address. He can come in whenever later this week after three except Thursday,” Iwaizumi says, and rolls his head back to check his calendar. If today’s Monday, then… yep, free every day after classes except the one staff meeting.

“ _Will do. See you around Iwaizumi, good luck with your classes!”_ Kindaichi hangs up before Iwaizumi can say good-bye and he ends the call with a sigh.

“First job in a few weeks,” Iwaizumi muses, and pushes himself to his feet. As he’s crossing his room to his bathroom he takes a moment to remember the last job- an old woman’s abusive husband haunting her- and tries to remember where he put his supplies.

 _Well,_ he thinks as he turns on the showerhead, _the salt is in the kitchen, and the holy water is in the fridge. Not sure where I put my chalk or my blades, though._ He strips his sweaty clothes quickly and steps under the warm spray.

Ever since he called Kiyoko’s number those four years ago she’s assigned him jobs that don’t get in the way of his classes at a local high school. She pays him for them, of course; the money almost makes up for how beat up he can get during a job.

But the large sums are definitely worth it.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” He shouts as his bottle of shampoo hits his foot hard. Its as he’s grabbing the sore area with his hand that he realizes he has no idea who Kunimi’s friend is or what they look like.

 _With my luck,_ he thinks morosely, _they’ll have a fucking serial killer attached to them._

\----

Oikawa Tooru lives a simple life. He does his best. He works hard. So it’s totally natural for him to be mildly upset with how shitty his past has been.

It’s not like he’s a serial killer, or anything.

“Oh my _god,_ Jimmy! _Don’t bring that near me!”_ Oikawa sighs as he rubs at his nose under his glasses. He is definitely not paid enough.

“Jimmy, don’t do that,” He says tiredly, and stands up as Jimmy sheepishly apologizes to the other student he was terrorizing.

“Alright everyone, put away your tools _neatly,_ and don’t poke anyone with anything sharp!” He announces loudly to his class.

Oikawa checked his phone- again- hoping Kunimi texted him back because the black mass pulsing in the corner of his classroom is _really_ unnerving and he _needs_ that guy’s address.

The sound of a throat clearing reached his ears and Oikawa lifted his head to see Kageyama Tobio standing in front of his desk looking _really_ nervous. He tried to paste a smile on but he’s sure it looked fake- Kageyama still looked uneasy.

“Mr. Oikawa, I- um…” Kageyama hesitated for a moment and glanced down at his feet, fiddling with his sleeve. In an instant Oikawa’s smile dropped and he felt unease stirring in his stomach. Something was obviously bothering his student.

“I need to talk-“ The bell rang in the middle of Kageyama’s sentence and he jumped, startled. Students fled the room quickly, a few tossing _have a nice day,_ or _see you Monday_ over their shoulders, and Oikawa returned as many as he could. When he turned back to speak to Kageyama as the room quieted the teenager had disappeared.

He sighed and began to pack up his bag, deciding to ask Kageyama about what was wrong when they came back from the weekend. The boy was obviously worried about something if he came to _Oikawa._

Casting an anxious look back at the shadowy mass in the corner of the room Tooru turned and fled the room, bag hiked over his shoulder and phone clutched firmly in his hand. He waved to a few of the other teachers remaining after hours in the building as he stepped into the September heat.

He hurried along the sidewalk to his car and slipped into the hot pocket of metal quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as he distanced himself from the rolling mass.

His phone dinged.

 _The address,_ Oikawa realized suddenly, and unlocked his phone as quickly as he could. There, in Kunimi’s usual short wording, are the words Tooru has been looking forward to for the past week.

  *   _243 Oakland, white paint black shutters_



Tooru immediately traces the path in his head as he presses the key into the

ignition and pulls out of his parking spot carefully.

 _Lets hope this guy can take care of my issue,_ he thinks, glancing in the rearview to see the mass curling and shuddering in the back of his car.

\----

  *   _He’s on his way, don’t be rude, he’s had a rough time_



Iwaizumi sighs and leaves the towel he was drying his hair with over his head. Of course this guy’s had a rough time- he was being haunted by a ghost, for Christ’s sake, what did Kindaichi expect?

Iwaizumi pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in his room- who was he trying to impress?- and paced into the kitchen to gather his “tools of the trade”, as Yachi referred to them.

The daggers, holy water, and chalk were all on his kitchen table within minutes, along with the special clothe Kiyoko makes him use- “unaided escorts are bad business” she says- but he couldn’t find the salt.

 _It was in the cupboard barely a week ago,_ he thinks exasperatedly, and scratches Oberyn’s head as the German Shepherd nudges against him.

He drops to his knees on the ground and digs through the bottom cupboards with a sigh. It’s a fucking container of salt, where could it possibly be?

He thinks he’s spotted it and reaches for it, up to the middle of his back inside the cupboard, when the doorbell rings and _fuck- fuck that hurt!_

 _“Fuck!”_ Iwaizumi yelps, and pushes himself out of the cupboard with a hand around the salt container and one rubbing the top of his head.

“This guy better have an easy spirit,” He grumbles, rising to his feet as the doorbell rings again. He stalks through the house with Oberyn at his heels.

When he yanks the door open- as the doorbell rings _again_ \- he’s not sure what he’s expecting. Kunimi’s friends with a lot of people, surprisingly, and Iwaizumi’s not 100% what he’s going to see.

But when he gets the door open completely he sure isn’t expecting what he does see.

Converse- dirty, white converse, what the fuck- and dark jeans that aren’t really skinny but kind of clinging to a set of _very_ long legs (if Iwaizumi were jeans he sure would be clinging to those legs too, _holy fuck_ ), a ratty red flannel and black T-shirt with writing on it, and then up and up to red-bitten lips and sprays of freckles and then shit, _shit,_ cute black glasses that frame-

That frame mismatched eyes _just like Iwaizumi’s._

“Hi there, are you the Ghost Buster’s wannabe?”

_Iwaizumi was going to throttle Kunimi and dump his body in a lake._

\----

“So you’ve had this, er, shadow clinging to you for a couple of weeks?” Iwaizumi asked, totally, _completely_ floundering with trying to handle this guy.

“Yep! I’m not one hundred percent sure when it showed up, but whenever I went to sleep I started noticing it in the corner of my room, and then it started following me to school!” Oikawa said, and Iwaizumi had to resist the urge to rub away an oncoming migraine. He could _see_ the spirit, hovering and _pulsating_ above Oikawa, and _seriously how was this guy not dead yet._

“Seriously, how are you not dead yet?”

 _Nice Iwaizumi,_ he thinks to himself, _evidently going for eloquence._

Oikawa does look thrown off, his eyebrows hitched high on his forehead and his eyes- his fucking _eyes, how are his eyes like that-_ are wide, but he doesn’t look offended or disgusted.

“I’ve been avoiding it?” He offers up, looking unsure of himself.

“I usually just kind of run away when it gets too close- except in class.” He says, and Iwaizumi watches his slender fingers fiddle with his loose flannel sleeve.

 _What the fuck,_ he thinks.

“Okay,” He says, and scratches at the side of his neck.

“I can do a banishment right here and now, and get rid of this guy, if you want,” Iwaizumi says, and is surprised by how eager Oikawa looks.

“Really?” He asks, and Iwaizumi hesitantly nods. _Is this guy for real?_ Iwaizumi wonders.

“I just have to get set up in the kitchen, so…” He trails off as Oikawa rocks to his feet, and clambers off the couch as well.

Iwaizumi lays out the cloth and pushes the salt, dagger and holy water off to the side. He can probably just do the incantation and be done with it, the spirit doesn’t look like it’s attached to Oikawa at all.

“I need you to give me your hands,” Iwaizumi says bluntly, lying his hands palm up on the cloth. Oikawa blinks at him before a small smile curls on his face.

“If you insist, Iwa-chan,” He says, and- wait. _Hold the fuck up._

“ _Iwa-chan?”_ Iwaizumi asks, incredulous, because what the fuck- Oikawa was definitely at least part Asian- his features were washed out by European too much to tell exactly what- but how did Oikawa know Iwaizumi’s ethnicity?

Oikawa blinks at him. And then again. And then one more time.

“Why do you have the –chan added to the end?” Iwaizumi asked, and decides for now to disregard the awful nickname in favor for more pressing matters at hand.

“Because you’re Japanese and so am I?” Oikawa says, looking confused, before nodding his head, “Besides, it’s an adorable nickname and I like it,” He says confidently, and Iwaizumi is once again floored.

_What the fuck._

“Anyway, shouldn’t we get on with this exorcism or whatever it is, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says, and lays his hands over Iwaizumi’s on the clothe. Instantly, a cold shiver shot up through his arms and down his neck, and Iwaizumi struggles not to convulse with the power and chill.

“How long have you had this spirit around?” He asks, voice catching, and Oikawa looks concerned.

“Three months now, maybe?” He says, “Are you alright?”

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, focusing on Oikawa’s paler hands atop his own dark skinned ones, and definitely _not_ thinking about Oikawa’s stunningly mismatched eyes.

“’M fine. Now listen carefully. When I do this, you can’t let go of my hands no matter what, kay?” He says, and waits for Oikawa to nod before taking another deep breath.

“This is gonna sting a little,” He says, and begins speaking the words Kiyoko taught him in a low tone.

 _“_ _Vlug, vlug van ons wêreld; terug te keer na die land van die beloofde , terugkeer na jou huis , laat die lewe , om die lewende en terug te keer na die dood. Vlug, vlug van ons…”_ Iwaizumi keeps his voice level as static erupts in his ears and he sees Oikawa flinch from across of him. As wind whips through his small kitchen and voices swell and quiet randomly, Iwaizumi watches the spirit convulse rapidly and then expand and disappear in an explosion of light.

Across from him, Oikawa screams.

When Iwaizumi looks back down at Oikawa blood is dripping down his face in thick rivulets from his nose and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi says, and then _“fuck,”_ as Oikawa’s knees give out and he slumps to the floor. Iwaizumi is around the table in seconds and kneeling next to the other man. He grasps Oikawa’s head in his hands and forces his eyes open with his thumbs- Oikawa’s pupil sizes are skewed, and fuck, Iwaizumi has _no fucking idea_ what that means- and blood is still flowing out of his nose and dripping off the sharp line of his jaw.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi reiterates, because yes, _fuck._

His fingers find Oikawa’s pulse in his neck and he’s floored, yet again, because Oikawa’s pulse is literally flying under his fingertips.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Iwaizumi says as he pinches Oikawa’s nose in an effort to staunch the blood flow, “Your heart is way too fast,”

But Oikawa shakes his head avidly, throwing off Iwaizumi’s fingers.

“It’s always like that,” He pants, and cups under his nose with his hand. _That can’t be healthy,_ Iwaizumi thinks, casting back his memories to his first aid training.

In front of him Oikawa lurches to his feet, steadying himself on the countertop, and begins limping across the kitchen to the sink. Iwaizumi stands up with him and grabs a small towel from a drawer. He offers it wordlessly to Oikawa who offers him a smile- that would be stunning if his teeth weren’t stained with blood- as he leans over the sink.

As his customer- _fuck,_ Kiyoko was going to kill him- washed his face and attempted to stop the blood, Iwaizumi grabbed another towel to try and wipe the blood off the table and floor. Mixing in blood with banishments is not a good recipe.

He scrubbed the wood floors hard, marks blurring as he desperately tried to reason with what had just happened. _The bloody nose, the screaming, the ghost, the mismatched eyes…_ All of this had to be connected, Iwaizumi just couldn’t figure out _how._

“So is the ghost gone now?” Oikawa asks from behind him, and Iwaizumi jumps. He hadn’t heard the faucet turn off.

“Yeah, I banished it,” Iwaizumi says, rocking back on his heels to look at Oikawa. His gaze is heavy and critical on the other man.

“Why do you have mismatched eyes?” They ask in unison, and blink in surprise. Oikawa’s mouth curls into a grin (from where Iwaizumi can see it behind the cloth held to Oikawa’s nose).

“You first,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi frowns at him.

“I died,” He said shortly, “In Iraq.” Oikawa blinks at him, obviously surprised, before nodding.

“I died, too. During my surgery,” He offers, and this time it’s Iwaizumi who’s thrown.

“Your surgery for your knee, right?” He asks, and Oikawa lowers the towel from his face in surprise.

“You limped to the sink just now,” Iwaizumi says before Oikawa can ask, “And your gait is messed up.” Oikawa levels a stare at him for a long moment before blinking and smiling.

“How observant, Iwa-chan! Just like every soldier I know!” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi finds himself unusually angry for how obviously _fake_ Oikawa is right now.

“Well, I better get home,” Oikawa says, and drops the bloody towel into Iwaizumi’s sink on his way to the living room. Iwaizumi rocks to his feet and follows after depositing his towel in the sink as well.

“You really shouldn’t drive after losing that much blood,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa glances over his shoulder as he picks his messenger bag up off the couch.

“Your concern is touching for how recently we met, but it was just a bloody nose, Iwa-chan! I’ll be fine to drive!” He offers with a flippant wave, and Iwaizumi finds himself angry again.

“Nope, I’m driving you home,” He says, and marches past Oikawa to the door. He opens it and turns to look at Oikawa with gritted teeth.

The taller man- fuck, life is unfair- looks confused, and he worries at his bottom lip with his teeth as he observes Iwaizumi. After several long moments he shrugs.

“If you insist!” Iwaizumi is surprised enough by his easy surrender that he doesn’t move for a moment after Oikawa walks through the door.

 _Is this guy for real?_ Iwaizumi wonders as Oikawa calls to him from beside his car at the curb. Once again, as he makes his way down the sidewalk, Iwaizumi finds himself caught up on Oikawa’s mismatched eyes. So Oikawa _did_ die and see past the door- explains how he saw the ghost, but doesn’t really explain why he almost had an aneurysm during the banishment.

“Alrighty Iwa-chan, I hope you’re a good driver!” Oikawa says, interrupting Iwaizumi’s train of thought. The shorter man meets his gaze with a flat frown, and Oikawa’s bottom lip pushes out into a slight pout.

 _Unbelievable,_ Iwaizumi thinks.

He circles the car to the driver’s side and looks through the window, where Oikawa is already seated on the passenger side.

“What is this,” Iwaizumi suddenly says, and Oikawa looks up at him in surprise.

“A car?” Oikawa offers, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Why is a gear shift in here,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa blinks at him.

“You don’t know how to drive stick?” Oikawa asks, voice tight, and Iwaizumi glares at him. Oikawa bites his lip hard and covers his mouth with his hand, and Iwaizumi’s glare only intensifies as Oikawa’s eyes crinkle.

 _Fuck, that’s kind of cute,_ Iwaizumi thinks, and crosses his arms without letting up on his glare.

In his car, Oikawa bursts into giggles.

Iwaizumi turns and walks away.

“Oh- wait, Iwa-chan, I’m sorry for laughing at you! I’ve just never met someone who can’t drive stick!” Oikawa calls, scrambling out of his car and following Iwaizumi up to his house.

“And I’ve never met someone who can drive stick,” Iwaizumi mutters, taking purposeful strides to his garage. He hears Oikawa’s footsteps falter behind him.

“Where are we going?” He asks, and Iwaizumi waves his hand without looking behind him.

“I told you I’m driving you home,” Iwaizumi says, and steps into his garage.

Oikawa stands in the middle of his driveway uncertainly, twisting his messenger bag strap in the cool evening air. He glances around the property uneasily, his eyes catching on shadows cast by water spigots and lawn chairs.

Iwaizumi’s garage door opens and Oikawa finds himself staring into the yawning chasm of shadow. Something moves and he takes a step, unnerved.

 _What the hell is he doing?_ Oikawa wonders, and then the evening air is sliced in half with the sound of a roar.

An arc of bright light blinds Oikawa and for a moment all he can think is _aliens???_ Before Iwaizumi cruises out of the garage on a motorcycle.

Iwaizumi owns a motorcycle.

 _Shit, he probably looks really hot in leather,_ he thinks hysterically, before Iwaizumi is next to him and flicking his visor up.

“You don’t mind riding this thing, do you?” He asks, and Oikawa has to hold back at least five different jokes he would never say in front of his students.

“As long as you have an extra helmet, no,” Oikawa says, and gladly accepts the plain red one Iwaizumi hands him. He stows his glasses in his bag before sliding the helmet on, lamenting the damage it was definitely going to do to his hair.

“Hear, give me you bag,” Iwaizumi says, and lifts the seat to stow Oikawa’s bag under. Oikawa considers the big black motorcycle for several long seconds, debating if you were supposed to mount it like a horse, when Iwaizumi huffs a breath out of his nose.

“It’s not going to bite you,” He says, “And I know how to ride it, you’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi’s eyes are considering though; Oikawa gets the feeling that, if he asked, Iwaizumi wouldn’t make him ride the motorcycle if he didn’t want to.

“I didn’t mess up my hair for nothing, I suppose,” Oikawa says, and swings his leg over the seat.

“Hold tight,” Iwaizumi says, flicking his visor down, and Oikawa follows suit. _You don’t have to tell me twice,_ Oikawa thinks, and wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s stomach tightly.

With another ear shattering roar Iwaizumi peals out of his driveway and on to the street.

The streets are dark and empty this late in the day, and the moon begins to rise on the edge of the city. After telling Iwaizumi his address they both quieted, and the sound of the motorcycle’s purr is the only sound in the night. Neither of them speak during the twenty-minute drive across town.

Iwaizumi pulls up smoothly in front of Oikawa’s apartment complex and pushes his visor up as Oikawa slides off of the bike.

They trade the helmet for Oikawa’s bag and then, for a moment, stand awkwardly in the fading light.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Oikawa says suddenly, and begins rummaging in his bag. He pulls out a black marker and pushes his sleeve up.

“What’s your phone number?” He asks, and Iwaizumi considers simply driving away.

But he sighs and lists it off anyway because Oikawa looks like a hopeful puppy and is _way_ too pretty for his own good.

“Just in case I get another ghost!” Oikawa says as he stows his marker again. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes.

“You better not,” He says threateningly, eyeing the dried blood that was crusted under Oikawa’s nose. Oikawa’s hand lifts to touch it almost self-consciously.

“You never know, Iwa-chan!” He says, and turns to walk up to his apartment. Iwaizumi sighs and drops his visor before kicking off the curb.

_With my luck, I’ll see him next week._

\----

“Alright children, it’s time to be educated!” Oikawa says, clicking on the powerpoint. The students in his classroom groan.

First period Monday classes are always a charm.

He’s halfway into the lesson on the function of ribosomes when he notices ugly dark brown splotches across the ceiling. He doesn’t think much of it- this room doubles as a lab room- until he realizes the splotches aren’t dark brown so much as black. He glances up at it once more, trepidation stalling his words to his class, and feels something drop from his stomach to his feet when he sees it move.

 _Shit,_ Oikawa thinks, swallowing roughly, _Iwa-chan is going to kill me._

\----

 _“And he got a bloody nose when you finished the banishment spell? About the time the spirit was banished?”_ Kiyoko asked, and Iwaizumi nodded before he remembered he was on the phone.

“Yeah, that’s right. And he has mismatched eyes- like mine.” Iwaizumi says and Kiyoko falls silent.

 _“What colour were they? And how did he die?”_ She asked, and Iwaizumi finishes packing the rest of his papers into his bag.

“One eye was a dark brown and the other a pale, electric blue. He said he died during his surgery for his leg- I think he tore his ACL,” Iwaizumi states as he steps out of his door. He shuts and locks it behind him as Kiyoko thinks on the other side of the line.

 _“This is certainly alarming,”_ She says eventually, her voice level, and Iwaizumi can practically feel her thinking. He swings his leg over his motorcycle after stowing his bag.

“I’ve got to get to class,” He says, and Kiyoko hums in response.

 _“Keep in contact for a few days,”_ She says, _“Make sure he’s alright,”_ After Iwaizumi confirms that he will they say their good byes and end the call. As Iwaizumi slips his helmet over his head his phone dings with an incoming text message and he unlocks it with a sigh.

_unknown number:_

  *   _Iwa-chan I think I might need your help again_



For a moment Iwaizumi doesn’t understand- Iwa-chan?- until a wave of realization pile drives him into the ground.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO HEY HEY HEY PLEASE READ THIS I FORGOT TO ADD IT TO THE TOP  
> since i am a pathetic child and have no clue how to write with honorifics or in other countries I'm gonna pick up all these characters and transfer them to an American town  
> also please note- Oikawa is American/European and Japanese  
> Iwaizumi is Phillippine and Japanese
> 
> check me out on tumblr at jurassicqueer


	3. A Theory In Ghosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa turns because Iwaizumi’s voice sounds really close, and _shit, shit shit shit shit- why is Iwa-chan standing in front of me in just a towel is this a wet dream this is totally a wet dream what the fuck what the fuck-_  
>  Instead of voicing all these thoughts and creating a very awkward moment, Oikawa gapes wordlessly at him for a moment, before shrieking in a high-pitched tone, _“You’re dripping water on my good floors!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're so gay  
> (actually Oikawa is pan/demi he just calls himself gay BC lack of representation and stigma idk)  
> (Iwa really is gay lmfao)
> 
> anyway this is like 12 pages long and WAY longer than usually, like its 6000 words? really close to it?  
> also there is a serious lack of seriousness in this chapter and things will get more angsty later *rubs hands together*

“Oikawa, honestly, when are you gonna get a boyfriend? I can’t even remember the last person you dated,” Kuroo groans. Oikawa shoots him a glare he knows the other man won’t see.

“If you’re so eager for me to get a boyfriend why don’t you date me yourself,” He says petulantly, and Kuroo snorts.

“I’m happy with Koutarou, but thanks for the offer,” Kuroo says. Oikawa sighs and drops his face into the thick carpet covering his living room floor.

“Only ‘cause he pile-drives you into your mattress,” He mutters sullenly, and yelps when a pillow hits him in the back of the head.

“Half deaf, remember,” Kuroo sings, and Oikawa grumbles as he rubs his head. Tooru rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling as the fan blows cool air over him. The sudden unexpected heat wave had people retreating into their homes during the day and turning on fans and air conditioners to their greatest potential.

It’s been three weeks since Iwaizumi banished the first ghost Tooru had tailing him, and since then he’s gone back at ridiculously often to get rid of spirits that were attracted to him. He had the obnoxious nosebleeds each time Iwa-chan performed the banishment spell, which certainly hadn’t helped his mood. And the fact that Iwa-chan’s mismatched eyes were because he died as well is certainly puzzling.

“Hey Kuroo,” Oikawa asks suddenly. _This isn’t a good idea._ Kuroo hums in response. “Did you die while you were in Afghanistan?” Kuroo tenses on Tooru’s couch and the room is silent except for the fan’s hum.

“I don’t want to talk about Afghanistan,” Kuroo’s voice is tight and terse, and Oikawa feels guilt well up in his chest. He doesn’t want to make Kuroo think about his tours as a soldier, he really doesn’t, _but he needs to know._

“Your eyes have never been different colours, but when you came back from this last tour they were,” Oikawa says, and rolls his head to look at Kuroo’s profile. His eyes are scrunched tightly shut.

“My eye was blue when I woke up after my surgery, and my mom told me I died twice on the operating table. Iwaizumi has a gold eye and a green eye, and he said he died in Iraq-“ Oikawa bites his lip hard when he realizes he hasn’t told Kuroo about Iwaizumi yet, but the other man doesn’t seem to realize what he said.

“You don’t have to go into specifics,” Tooru says, his voice gentle, “I just want to know if you died over there.” They both are silent for a long moment. Oikawa considers telling Kuroo to forget about it- he doesn’t want his friend having a panic attack or crying, or both- when Kuroo takes a deep breath.

“I died,” He says quietly, breaking the silence, “It was a routine drive. We were just patrolling, we didn’t expect anyone to come looking for trouble. I was joking around with Yamamoto one moment and then the Humvee was flipped and everything was on fire and I couldn’t hear anything. Everything went dark and then- and then- I was on a stretcher in a helicopter and- and Bokuto was screaming at me and I- I couldn’t, I-“ Oikawa links his fingers with Tetsurou’s and sits there quietly as Kuroo struggles to contain his breathing.

“You didn’t have to tell me how,” Oikawa says quietly, running his thumb along Kuroo’s knuckles absently. Kuroo takes another deep breath.

“It’s about time I start talking about this kind of stuff, though, huh?” Kuroo says, trying for a small smile, turning his mismatched eyes to look down at Oikawa.

\----

“Iwa-chan, are you home?” Oikawa calls through the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waits at the doorstep. The heat wave continues to boil their town alive, and Oikawa’s donned a tie-dye T-shirt and his old volleyball shorts for the foray out of his cool apartment.

The latest spirit he’s _acquired_ (Iwa-chan’s terms, not his) is more aggressive than the others. After an afternoon nap he’d awoken to it inching it’s way across his floor towards him, its wriggling movements greatly resembling worms.

Of course Oikawa was mildly alarmed (read here: terrified) and fled to Iwaizumi’s house as soon as he could. He hadn’t even showered.

And now, here he was, standing at Iwaizumi’s doorstep at 9:03 P.M. after pedaling frantically across town on a bike he borrowed from Bokuto.

 _Having a mostly-blind man steal your car does desperate things to a man,_ Oikawa thinks, and resumes pounding on Iwaizumi’s door. The ghost was creeping closer, inch by inch, killing all the grass on Iwa-chan’s lawn that it came in contact with. Iwaizumi was totally going to blame him.

Oikawa briefly considers just leaving and biking around town until he was sure Iwaizumi was home (it was ridiculously late, where the fuck was Iwa-chan?) but he knows that in this heat his heart wouldn’t handle it terribly well.

Tooru’s rubbing at his chest absent mindedly as he turns to return to his borrowed bike when he sees Iwaizumi jogging down the sidewalk towards him. Next to him is a big German Shepherd Oikawa recognizes as Oberyn, Iwaizumi’s dog that growls at him every time he moves. Like owner like pet, apparently.

Oikawa reclines on the porch’s railing and waves as Iwaizumi slows down and walks up to the front door. He pulls his headphones out of his ears with a concerned look on his face.

“What are you doing here, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa knots his messenger bag strap around one of his hands. With his other he wordlessly points at the spirit spread across Iwaizumi’s yard.

Almost at the same time, a growl escapes Oberyn and Iwaizumi gasps, taking a large step back.

“Okay, holy fuck, wow,” Iwaizumi says, turning and practically shoving Oikawa at his front door. His eyes are wide and he looks shocked.

“We are going inside now and setting up a salt ring, lets go,” His hands are searing brands against Oikawa’s back as he pushes him insistently at the _locked door._

“Iwa-chan, I may be good, but I can’t get through a locked door!” Oikawa yelps, bracing his hands against the door to try and avoid having his face crushed against the wood. Iwaizumi abruptly stops and all Oikawa can hear is the rustling of clothing.

And then Iwaizumi’s tan hand thrusts forward a key and Oikawa can practically feel him vibrating behind him.

“Okay, okay, unlock the door, hurry,” Iwaizumi says frantically, pressing close to Oikawa as Oberyn snarls at the spirit on the lawn.

For a moment, as Oikawa struggles to get the key into the lock, all he can think of is the last time someone was pressed against his back as he tried to unlock a door with shaky hands.

This is a different time and place, though.

They burst through Iwaizumi’s door as soon as Oikawa unlocks it and slam it shut almost on Oberyn’s tail. For a moment they lean against the wall silently, catching their breath as their sweat cools in the cold house. Then Iwaizumi’s hand latches around Oikawa’s wrist and Tooru finds himself practically dragged across the living room to the kitchen.

Kitchen supplies and utensils are scattered across the floor as Iwaizumi lunges across the table to grab the salt. Oikawa finds himself squished against Iwaizumi’s chest as the other throws down a ring of salt around them in a _way_ too small circle.

“You couldn’t have made it any bigger?” Oikawa asks, blowing Iwaizumi’s hair away from his face with his mouth.

“Shut up, Oikawa- I wanna know why you’ve got a damn spirit that can kill living things tailing you!” Iwaizumi’s breath is hot and fast against Oikawa’s neck and Tooru has to remind himself to pay attention to what Iwa-chan’s saying.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Iwa-chan! I woke up with it barely two feet from me and getting closer!” Oikawa leans back and sees Iwaizumi’s face pull into a concerned frown.

“It didn’t hurt you, did it?” Iwaizumi asks gruffly, and Oikawa resists the urge to tease him _too_ badly.

“Aw, Iwa-chan, you do care! And no, it didn’t hurt me,” Oikawa says sunnily, and Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair with a grumble.

“This banishment is gonna be ugly,” He mutters, glancing up at Oikawa. His mismatched eyes are sharp.

“You’re gonna have one hell of a nosebleed after this one,” He adds, and leans over to the table and grabs his banishment clothe before Oikawa can respond. When he looks back up, Tooru’s lips are pushed out in a pout, but his eyes are focused intently on the spirit slinking into the kitchen. Oberyn’s snarling from behind the salt circle intensifies.

Iwaizumi lets the clothe flutter to the floor and he kneels over it awkwardly, Oikawa following suite quickly to avoid any _awkward_ imagery. His knee creaks in protest and he could feel a sharp ache building, but he figured he could hold out for the banishment.

Tooru let his clammy hands settle over Iwaizumi’s equally sweaty palms and took several deep breathes to try and calm himself down before Iwa-chan started saying that ridiculous spell.

 _“_ _Kry die hel uit hierdie wêreld wat jy stuk kak, sjoe sjoe ma fucker, jou vleespastei gat is dood, begin optree soos dit ,”_ Iwaizumi practically growls the words out, and Oikawa is surprised at the difference in wording. He’s heard the spell enough the past several weeks to know this certainly wasn’t the usual one.

The spirit swirls angrily and Oikawa can feel pain building in the back of his head, prickling at his eyes and the back of his scalp, and he resists the urge to shudder.

Iwaizumi repeats the chant and this time painfully loud buzzing erupts in Oikawa’s ears. He flinches but keeps his eyes trained on Iwaizumi, whose gaze was focused with deadly concentration on the spirit.

Thunderous voices explode across Oikawa’s eardrums that only intensify the volume of the buzzing. The noise is building and Oikawa’s vision blurs with tears of pain. He struggles to blink them back and keep track on the writhing spirit against the wall, but when an ear shattering scream cuts through the air and Tooru feels something wet along the inside of his ear, he squeezes his eyes shut and hopes the spirit gives up and dies quickly.

When he opens his eyes again he’s looking directly up at the ceiling and Iwaizumi is leaning over him.

“Don’t move at all,” Iwaizumi says quickly, and Oikawa is only mildly offended Iwa-chan thinks he’s that dumb.

He raises a badly trembling hand to his ear and when he pulls away there’s blood smeared across his fingers.

“Fuck,” He mutters, and drops his hand to his side. Iwaizumi sighs and settles down onto the floor next to him, not relinquishing his hold on the clothe under Oikawa’s nose.

“Is the spirit gone?” Oikawa asks, his voice warped from whatever the fuck happened to his ear. Iwaizumi nodded.

“Just as I banished it you passed out,” He said, his fingers warm where they brushed against Oikawa’s clammy face. Tooru wishes he would press his hand against his cheek.

Iwaizumi is silent for a long moment as Oikawa watches the ceiling spin slowly above him. _I don’t think that’s supposed to happen,_ Oikawa thinks, when he suddenly feels Iwaizumi’s warm hands on the inside of his wrist.

“Your pulse is too fast again,” Iwa-chan says, and Oikawa swallows roughly.

“Does it ever slow down?” He asks, and Tooru shrugs.

“I don’t take my pulse every minute of the day, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi snorts. They sit in silence again until Iwaizumi shifts and lifts the blood soaked rag from Oikawa’s face.

“I think your nose stopped bleeding,” He says, and Tooru sits up gingerly. The room spins (but only slightly) and he decides he’s set to get up. With Iwaizumi’s hand out to steady him Oikawa pushes himself to his feet, his bad knee throbbing fiercely as he puts weight on it.

“Come over to the sink, I’ll wash the blood out of your hair,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa limps after him, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Why could this spirit kill things and all the others couldn’t?” Oikawa asks, eyes focused carefully on Iwaizumi’s face. The other man sighs.

“The longer a spirit remains in this realm, the less ‘dead’ they become. If they spend enough time here after dying attached to a person, or even free floating, they can leak the life from someone who hasn’t died yet.” Iwaizumi says as he runs a wet sponge gently over the side of Oikawa’s face. He focuses on the dried blood there instead of Oikawa’s stunning eyes.

“These people can suffer from anything- organ failure, depression, cancer, you name it and it can probably be caused by a spirit,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa stiffens under his hand.

“So this spirit has been in this realm for a long time?” Oikawa asks and Iwaizumi nods as he rinses the sponge. He rubs it along Oikawa’s jawline and neck this time, catching the warm water that runs along Tooru’s skin with a drier part of the sponge.

“Long enough that the life it sucked from people allowed it to interact with living things directly,” Iwaizumi says, and wipes off Oikawa’s upper lip as one hand holds Oikawa’s chin in place. He notices with some annoyance that Tooru’s skin is ridiculously soft.

Once he finishes he drops the pink-tinged sponge into his sink and steps away from Oikawa.

“And now you’re taking me to your apartment,” Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms as Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s something there that all the ghosts are attracted to, and I’m getting rid of it. All these spirits are definitely going to affect your health soon.” He adds, and Oikawa sighs and holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“If you insist, Iwa-chan, I suppose you can come to my home!” Tooru says grandly, but his eyebrows are scrunched over his forehead, and Iwaizumi realizes Oikawa isn’t wearing his glasses.

“Can you even see anything?” He blurts out, and Oikawa blinks at him. They stand in awkward silence for a moment before Oikawa snorts (attractively) unattractively and turns toward the door.

“I have contacts, Iwa-chan, I can’t believe you could have missed that!” He tosses over his shoulder and squeals when a wet towel smacks him in the back of the head.

“Rude!” He shrieks and whips the towel back at Iwaizumi.

The other man catches it deftly.

“C’mon, we’re going over to your apartment now, and I’m combing it for some freaky voodoo shit you probably have lying around,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he strides past Oikawa to the door. He stoops to pick up the bag Oikawa dropped in their mad dash to the kitchen and holds it out to him.

Oikawa snatches the bag’s strap in his hand and swings it over his shoulders before flouncing past Iwaizumi and out the door.

“C’mon Iwa-chan, I can’t wait to ride your motorcycle again!” Oikawa calls, and Iwaizumi feels his face burn from Oikawa’s wording.

“Shittykawa,” He mutters.

He stops though, surprised to see a dingy bike splayed across his front lawn under the bright streetlight.

“Did you bike here, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa hums in confirmation.

“Kuroo has my car, even though he’s definitely not legal to drive with his eyes, and Yahaba is out on a date tonight, so I had no other way to get here!” Oikawa says, splaying his fingers out in a what-can-you-do motion, and Iwaizumi frowns at him.

“Did you steal some kid’s bike?” He asks, and Oikawa gapes at him.

“I am _offended_ by that accusation! _Appalled!_ I bike across town here, with my bad knee, in this oppressive heat, chased by a bloodthirsty ghost, and _this is what you say to me?!_ ” Oikawa’s voice climbs higher than normal with his exaggerations and he fake swoons, resting the back of his hand against his forehead.

“And here I was thinking you were a gentleman,” He sighs, and Iwaizumi lunges at him.

“Stay away from me, you brute!” Oikawa shrieks, leaping away, and Iwaizumi chases him up the yard towards the garage. Next to his house Hajime sees one of the women he helped move in a few months ago watch him out the window with surprise on her face. Oikawa waves at her haphazardly as he skips away from Iwaizumi and she waves back uncertainly.

Its only when Iwaizumi corners Oikawa against the wall of the garage that Oikawa finally concedes.

“Mercy, mercy,” He pants, rubbing at his chest, and Iwaizumi takes a small step back.

“You are quite the athlete,” Oikawa says, leaning against the garage wall as he catches his breath. Iwaizumi shrugs with his hands on his hips (he was pretty winded too, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting Oikawa know that).

“You’re pretty fast yourself, even with a bum knee,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa grins up at him, his eyes piercing in the dark.

“I do my best,” He says, mouth twisted and eyes intense, and Iwaizumi swallows roughly.

And then Oikawa straightens up and runs a hand through his sweaty, mussed hair, and the intense look in his eyes fades.

“We should probably get going, Iwa-chan, it’s not safe for pretty faces like ours to be seen out so late,” Oikawa says blithely, and Iwaizumi grunts as he turns and walks past Oikawa to the door of the garage.

This time he wheels his motorcycle out of the door instead of opening the garage up and tosses Oikawa the red helmet that seems especially reserved for him at this point.

“How many times has this been now, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, swinging his leg over the bike behind Iwaizumi. His chest settles wide and heavy on Iwaizumi’s back.

“This is the ninth ghost you’ve managed to attracted in the four weeks we’ve known each other,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa _definitely_ pouts at the exasperation in his voice, even though Iwaizumi can’t see his face.

“I think I’ve grown as a person since I’ve met you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says grandly, his hands slipping around Iwaizumi’s waist, and Hajime has to remind himself to keep breathing evenly.

“Yeah, grown up,” He manages, and kick starts the motorcycle as Oikawa splutters in indignation.

He peals out of the driveway and accelerates through the dark night, his headlight cutting a clear path through the muggy summer air.

Oikawa’s arms slowly loosen until hardly any of his torso is pressed against Iwaizumi’s back and lets his shoulders relax. He’s had to cop rides from Iwaizumi every time his nose bled (so every time he visited Iwa-chan) and by this time he’s gotten pretty comfortable with riding the motorcycle.

Iwaizumi glides to a halt in front of Oikawa’s dark apartment sooner than Oikawa had expected. He swings his leg off the bike and steps back as Iwaizumi slides off it as well. Once Oikawa’s pulled his helmet off and shaken out his hair he eyes Iwaizumi critically.

“You really should shower,” He says, his nose wrinkled, and Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow at him.

“So should you,” He says, almost accusing, and Oikawa sighs and flicks a piece of hair out of his face,

“Please don’t remind me,” Oikawa whines, and Iwaizumi snorts. He takes Oikawa’s helmet without complaint and stuffs his bike’s keys in his short’s pockets before grabbing his helmet.

“No ones going to tow my bike, right?” Iwaizumi asks, stepping up his pace so he falls into step with Oikawa. The other man waves his hand vaguely.

“No one around here cares enough, don’t worry, it’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Oikawa assures him, stepping into the cool apartment building. He waves at the person at the desk (who ignores him) and walks over to the stairs door.

“Why aren’t we taking the elevator?” Iwaizumi asks, brow furrowed, and Oikawa pushes the stair door open with a backwards glance.

“It’s out of order, has been. There’s a sign right there, Iwa-chan, hope you can read!” Oikawa calls over his shoulder, and sure enough, a sign is taped haphazardly to the elevator door.

Iwaizumi catches the stair door as it swings shut and starts up the stairs with a sigh. _It can’t feel good to climb these stairs with a bad knee,_ Iwaizumi thinks, glancing up at Oikawa. One of his hands was firmly anchored to the railing.

Oikawa’s apartment is on the second floor of the complex. The doors lining the hallways are a washed out white colour that hurts Iwaizumi’s eyes when paired with the pale blue walls.

He rubs at his temple absent-mindedly as Oikawa fishes through his bag for his keys.

 _This place feels weird,_ Iwaizumi thinks, frowning as Oikawa bends over the doorknob, _it’s probably just Oikawa’s funky voodoo shit,_ even though Iwaizumi really doubts Oikawa’s attracting the ghosts through voodoo.

Oikawa finally jiggles the key in and swings the door open victoriously, crowing his delight into the heavy night air.

“Kuroo, you better have cleared out, I have a _friend_ over, a real one this time!” Oikawa’s voice is warm and fills the dark living room better than any light ever could, but Iwaizumi can feel his stomach clenching and his neck dowsed in a cold sweat.

 _Something is wrong,_ he thinks dazedly as Oikawa fumbles with the lights.

A triumphant yell is all the warning Iwaizumi has before the lights flicker on and the room is bathed in searing brightness.

Visible for just a moment, stretching up and down the walls, crawling along the ceiling and clawing across the floor, are spirits. Black splatters cover all surfaces of the room like dried blood and before he can blink them away white agony explodes through Iwaizumi’s head.

_“Iwaizumi- shit, c’mon, wake up or I’m calling an ambulance! Do you really want to be hospitalized? Iwaizumi- fuck, Hajime, wake up-“_ Tinny words reach Iwaizumi’s ears slowly, fuzzily, and it takes him a moment to recognize the speaker.

 _That’s Oikawa,_ he thinks groggily, _why is he so upset? Did something happen? Is he hurt?_ At this worrying question, Iwaizumi pushes through the fog, avoiding the dark corners that stretch for miles. He moves towards Oikawa’s frightened voice as fast as he can, the sticky fog slowly sliding away as the light brightens. It becomes brighter and brighter until its blinding, _erasing, no, it’s too bright, where is he it’s the desert sun something is on fire where is Matsukawa why is there gas on my hands no no no no-_

 

And then Iwaizumi’s eyes open and his forehead slams against Oikawa’s face.

 

The other man falls back with a cry of pain, a hand leaving its grip on Iwaizumi’s face to clutch as his nose.

For a moment all Iwaizumi can do is suck in deep breathe after deep breathe. It feels like his whole body is static and he’s afraid if he trembled any more he’d shake right to pieces. The ceiling blurs above him and his breathe hitches in his chest, blind panic obscuring his vision, until a cold hand clamps down on his cheek.

“Don’t you _dare_ have a panic attack after head-butting me in the nose, Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa growls, leaning over Iwaizumi’s face- _too close too close not close enough though-_ a hand clamped tightly over his nose.

“You are going to take a deep breath right now and calm down, and then I’ll make you some tea and then you’ll explain why you passed out in my apartment,” Oikawa adds, and Iwaizumi forces himself to take a deep, deep breathe and exhale it slowly. He repeats, falling into the rhythm his therapist taught him, until the mind-crushing terror subsides and his heart slows in his chest.

“I’m okay,” Iwaizumi whispers hoarsely, meeting Oikawa’s odd eyes firmly. Tooru’s gaze is searching as it meets Iwaizumi’s, but eventually he nods and leans back, pulling his hand from Iwaizumi’s face.

Oikawa pushes himself to his feet unsteadily and then leans his hand down towards Iwaizumi. The latter doesn’t even hesitate as he reaches up and grabs the other’s clammy hand in his own. With a surprisingly strong pull Oikawa drags Iwaizumi up off the floor and steadies him with a hand to his shoulder.

“How do you like your tea?” Oikawa asks, pulling his hand from Iwaizumi’s after a long moment.

“As coffee,” Iwaizumi grumbles, following Oikawa into his living room, steps hesitant and gaze wary. Oikawa snorts a laugh and gestures to his couch before continuing to his kitchen.

“Make yourself at home,” Oikawa offers, and steps behind several cupboards, blocking Iwaizumi’s line of sight.

With a sigh Iwaizumi turns and surveys Tooru’s couch. He pushes aside a big blanket- which he’s pretty sure is a comforter- and moves some pillows to sit down gingerly.

With hesitant fingers he probes along the back of his skull, searching for bruises or bumps he may have gotten as reward for passing out at the door.

 _I have no idea how Oikawa doesn’t see those spirits,_ Iwaizumi thinks, eyes wary in their path around Oikawa’s living room, _but he needs to get out of here as soon as possible. He’s probably half-dead by now._

When his fingers find no bumps or tender areas on his skull he gives up and runs his hands through his spiky hair. Oikawa was right; he really needed a shower. His clothes were sticky with cold sweat and his hair felt down right unpleasant.

He shifts uncomfortably on the couch as his skin becomes tacky with dried sweat. Iwaizumi is seconds away from calling to Oikawa when the other man sticks his head out of the kitchen doorway.

“If you want you can use my shower, Iwa-chan,” He says, and Iwaizumi is only temporarily distracted by his frilly pink apron.

“It’s right over in the other corner of the room! Use my shampoo in moderation; not like it’ll do anything for your hair, but…” Oikawa’s voice tapers off in volume as he disappears back into the kitchen and Iwaizumi considers throwing a pillow in his general direction.

But he gets up with a sigh and makes his way to the bathroom, definitely _not_ pausing for a moment to take a peak at Oikawa’s ass- okay, _definitely not, really-_

Oikawa’s bathroom is on the smaller side with plain white tiling and tub. Iwaizumi finds everything relatively easily- who stacks their towels in a cupboard, like really- and gets the shower to turn on with his first try. Hey- shower’s can be difficult.

Iwaizumi doesn’t run into an issue until he pulls the shower curtain open and tugs off his shirt. When he turns around, he’s faced with two huge beady eyes- eyes that stare into his _soul-_ eyes that see the sins he’s committed-

He falls backwards with yelp, landing hard on the cold tile floor. His eyes fly upward, desperately meeting the eyes of the beast in Oikawa’s shower- _fuck, I am not equipped for this_ , he thinks despairingly- clenching his jaw when his eyes finally land on _the thing._

It’s-

 _I’m going to murder Tooru and hide his body in this tub,_ Iwaizumi thinks furiously, glaring up at the huge emoji alien head set on a galaxy background that is ordaining Oikawa’s shower curtain.

“Iwa-chan, did you slip and hurt something?” Oikawa calls, peaking his head through the bathroom door. For a moment he’s confused- where did Iwa-chan go? The window’s locked- until his gaze finally drops to the floor to see a very angry Iwa-chan.

Then Oikawa’s eyes catch on the open shower curtain and for a moment, everything is blissfully quiet- and then Oikawa bursts into laughter and the quiet moment is ruined.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi growls threateningly, pushing himself off the floor, shirt clutched tightly in hand, “If you don’t get out of here _right now_ and don’t stop laughing, I will strangle you with your shower curtain,” Tooru doesn’t stop laughing- honestly, it’s a nice sound, and Iwaizumi would love to hear more of it while not at the expense of Oikawa’s shitty humour- but he does back out of the bathroom doorway and stumble into the kitchen, grasping counter tops hard to keep from falling over.

Even when Iwaizumi steps into the shower he can still hear Oikawa’s annoying (adorable) laughter through the door and he grits his teeth hard to avoid smiling.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks.

In the kitchen Oikawa is still giggling to himself as he prepares the tea.

 _Iwa-chan’s quite built,_ he thinks to himself, humming as he pulls out the cream and sugar. _His biceps were amazing, and his back- I’d love to grab onto that-_ with a blush flooding his cheeks and neck Oikawa shook his head and tried to redirect his line of thinking.

 _It’s totally natural for someone as gay as I am to think that about someone as hot as Iwa-chan- let’s be real, anyone would lick those muscles if they got the chance,_ Oikawa thinks, a tad panicky, and nearly drops the tray when he years Iwaizumi yell his name.

“Oikawa! I’m gonna need to borrow some clothes,” He says, and Oikawa turns because Iwaizumi’s voice sounds really close, and _shit, shit shit shit shit-_ _why is Iwa-chan standing in front of me in just a towel is this a wet dream this is totally a wet dream what the fuck what the fuck-_

Instead of voicing all these thoughts and creating a very awkward moment, Oikawa gapes wordlessly at him for a moment, before shrieking in a high-pitched tone,  _“You’re dripping water on my good floors!”_

Iwaizumi gapes at him for a moment, floored- _puns_ \- before backing towards the bathroom door.

“I need to bother some of your clothes!” He protests as Oikawa backs him into the bathroom.

“And I’ll get you some, just _don’t drip water on my floors!_ ” Oikawa says, eyes inadvertently ducking back to Iwaizumi’s wet chest every time he drags them away. By the time he turns and heads to his room to get Iwaizumi some clothes his face is beet red and he has to take a moment to cool down.

Inside the bathroom Iwaizumi leans against the sink with a sigh, looking down at his bare feet on the dark blue carpet. It went quite well with the tiles under it.

 _Oikawa was definitely checking me out,_ a traitorous part of Iwaizumi’s mind whispers, and a slightly larger portion of it revels in that fact. A small grin pushes at his lips before he can stop it as he remembers Oikawa’s blush and eyes practically glued to his chest.

As Oikawa’s footsteps near the bathroom again Iwaizumi glances over to the door- but something big and blue catches his eye first.

 _A litter box?_ Iwaizumi realizes, glancing towards the door as Oikawa steps back in.

“I didn’t know you have a cat,” Iwaizumi says as he takes the clothes Oikawa hands him. Oikawa pulls back and looks at his oddly.

“I don’t have a cat, Iwa-chan. Are you feeling alright?” Oikawa says, eyebrows pulling close over his eyes, and Iwaizumi blinks at him.

“Than what’s that for,” He accuses, pointing at the blue litter box in the corner of the bathroom. Oikawa arches an eyebrow at him.

“My rabbit, Blackberry,” Oikawa says hotly, tilting his nose up and turning away.

“But you have a litter box. For cats. Litter boxes are for cats.” Iwaizumi says, and really, he doesn’t get what’s up with Tooru- rabbits don’t need litter boxes, do they?

“Not all cat owners,” Oikawa says, glaring at Iwaizumi over his shoulder, and for just a second Iwaizumi _sees_ Oikawa’s eyes track a water droplet down the side of his neck onto his collarbone, before the other man flushes red and shuts the door tightly behind him.

 _Me; 1, Oikawa; 0_ , Iwaizumi thinks smugly.

\----

 _I may have underestimated him,_ Iwaizumi thinks sullenly, looking down at the Ghostbuster’s logo stretched across his chest. At least the shorts fit well.

He hangs the wet towel up over the shower curtain bar and slips out of the bathroom. He makes his way to the kitchen, all the while looking for Oikawa’s bunny and the ghosts that he can _feel._

Iwaizumi settles on the couch in the living room with a sigh, his eyes trained on the window showing the pitch black night. It’d be hell to drive home, but he doesn’t think he and Oikawa know each other well enough for him to spend the night there.

Oikawa interrupts Iwaizumi’s train of thought by setting the tea tray on the coffee table in front of the couch with a loud rattle. On it is a vast array of tea effects and addends. Iwaizumi finds himself quite terrified.

Oikawa pulls the apron off of him in a flourish and flings it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“I’ll be in the shower! Don’t use all the cream!” He calls over his shoulder, scurrying into the bathroom. In the next moment the shower turns on and Iwaizumi reaches for the milk, unsure of how to drink tea.

 _Is it like coffee…?_ Iwaizumi wonders, trying to remember if Daichi has ever mentioned what to put in tea to make it taste good.

He dumps a cube or two of sugar into his cup and adds just a little milk before staring at the mix suspiciously. _First time for everything, right?_ He thinks, and takes a small sip just as Oikawa screams his name.

Tea sprays out of his mouth and he lunges forward in an effort to keep it off the floors.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi splutters, catching the tea dripping off his chin with a hand. There’s a few moments of silence before Oikawa appears in the living room, wet hair held back with a bright yellow hair band. He’s wearing his glasses.

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘say it, don’t spray it’?” Oikawa asks critically, handing Iwaizumi a napkin, but he’s biting his lip hard and obviously trying not to burst into laughter. Iwaizumi glares at him.

 _He totally did that on purpose, the little shit,_ Iwaizumi thinks angrily, drying his chin with the napkin as Oikawa sits down next to him. Oikawa clears his throat and props his chin on his hand with a shit-eating grin, eyes crinkled in mirth, and sips from his teacup like something from Jane Austen.

Or something like that.

“Okay, time to be serious,” Oikawa suddenly says, and sets his cup down. Iwaizumi glares at him.

“You can either stay the night here, examine my housing to your heart’s content, or examine it for, like, 10 minutes and then leave, because I have A block tomorrow and I need to sleep,” Tooru ascertains, and Iwaizumi suddenly feels bad, because yeah, it is pretty late.

“No, no, I’ll just do a quick sweep and leave, the weather’s fine-“ In the middle of Iwaizumi’s sentence a crack of thunder interrupts him, and rain suddenly begins pelting the window with terrifying force. Oikawa and Iwaizumi stare at the window.

“I’ll let you have the couch,” Oikawa says faintly, and Iwaizumi nods, still staring at the sudden onslaught of nature.

_I guess I’m staying at Oikawa’s tonight._


	4. Take Me To Church (Synagogue?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ooh, Iwa-chan, take me to church,” Oikawa says teasingly, and Iwaizumi flips him off. Tooru sticks out his tongue before standing off the couch as well and bending over to pick up his bags.  
> Iwaizumi totally did not check out his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update kiddos. my mental and physical health is not holding up as much as i would like it to.  
> fortunately, my regents are this week and then I'm done with school for the summer. i hopefully won't have any late updates like this one.
> 
> also this is over 7000 words long so idk that kind of makes up for it being late
> 
> note; the gore and violence tag definitely comes into play here, so be careful. its mostly at the end of the chapter, so you can skip it if you don't like graphic gore, but the scene is really important. but. do whatever for your own safety.

“Alright, you can sleep on my couch tonight,” Oikawa says, albeit reluctantly, and Iwaizumi feels grateful he doesn’t have to drive home in the miserable deluge outside.

Oikawa leans forward and grabs the remote on the coffee table before flicking it on. He surfs through a few channels until a documentary on whales appears on the screen.

For just a moment, Iwaizumi lets his eyes settle on the planes of Oikawa’s face; flickering in the coloured light of the TV, he looks surreal, eyes glowing in the dim light. He brings his cup to his face and sips from it, attention glued to the screen, and Iwaizumi finds himself tracing the long line of Oikawa’s throat as he swallows.

He forces himself to look away and pay attention to humpback whale’s migration patterns, but his face is burning and he can’t help but picture Oikawa’s smooth neck and long, long legs under his hands.

He glances back over at Oikawa for another furtive look, just like a teenager back in high school, and finds himself staring into Oikawa’s electrifyingly different eyes. He has a look of contemplation on his face, brows pulled sharply over his glasses, lip trapped between his teeth. Iwaizumi feels himself blush again as he whips his head back around to focus on the TV.

They sit in silence, watching the whale program for its duration. Iwaizumi feels Oikawa’s gaze on him several times throughout the hour but he refuses to meet his eyes again.

When Oikawa finally turns the TV off Iwaizumi has to bite back a yawn. A glance at the DVD player reveals the time; 11:59 PM. Oikawa sighs.

“Six is gonna come early tomorrow,” Oikawa says grumpily as he stretches, shirt riding up his stomach. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes glued to the clock.

“This morning,” Iwaizumi supplies helpfully, glancing up at Oikawa as he stands after the numbers change. Oikawa groans.

“Lovely,” He says as he gathers the tea onto the tray, “Make yourself at home,” Oikawa calls over his shoulder as he sets the tray in the kitchen.

“Will you be fine with that?” He asks as he steps back into the room. Iwaizumi pulls the comforter up over his lap and plops onto the pillows gracelessly.

“Yeah this’ll be good,” He says, glancing back up at Oikawa, who flashes him a smile.

“Alrighty Iwa-chan, if you need anything just yell!” Tooru says before turning and practically skipping his way back to his room. His gentle humming reaches Iwaizumi’s ears and Hajime’s eyes slip shut.

 _Maybe I can sleep here,_ he thinks, _I just have to hope those spirits won’t kill me._

He burrows back into the soft couch with a happy sigh and lets himself drift to sleep.

\----

_“Hajime! Hajime!” Matsukawa’s screams reach Iwaizumi, half conscious, and he struggles to focus on the familiar voice._

_“Hajime, wake up! You need to get up! Don’t you dare die on me!” Matsukawa’s anguished voice slips into Japanese as he desperately performs CPR on Iwaizumi, feeling for a pulse that’s all but disappeared._

_“Hajime!”_

Iwaizumi sits up with a strangled gasp, chest heaving and sweat streaking his neck. His gaze flits around the room wildly, eyes peering into the shadows gathered in the corners and pooled on the ceiling.

He pushes the comforter off him with jerky movements, trying to free himself of the suddenly tight restrictions around his legs. The clock in the corner reads 3:49 AM in bright red letters. Rain still pelts against the window furiously.

Iwaizumi pushes himself to his feet and bangs his shins against the coffee table painfully. He stumbles across the dark room towards the bathroom with desperate breaths, head pounding with unprecedented fury.

 _Hajime! Hajime!_ Iwaizumi flinches as Matsukawa’s desperate screams echo through his ears again. A flash of movement near the door to Oikawa’s bedroom startles him and his knee collides painfully with the corner of the bathroom door. He leans against the wall as a small rabbit hops closer and closer to his feet, its eyes beady and wary of him. Iwaizumi forces himself to take a deep breath and straighten up. Something warm dribbling along his knee catches his attention, and a gentle touch there with his finger provides a hot smear of blood.

He moves towards the bathroom with a sigh, flicking the light on with a pained wince and kneeling on his good knee to rifle through the cupboard in search of a band-aid. When the cupboards and drawers attached to the sink reap no results Iwaizumi moves to his feet. He presses a wad of toilet paper to his knee to staunch the bleeding for the moment. Oikawa really wouldn’t appreciate having a dead man’s blood smeared all over furniture.

Iwaizumi leans up and swings open the glass mirror to reveal the cabinet behind it and is met with glaring orange pill bottles lined up in rows. He blinks once, twice- trying to take it in and understand what he’s seeing. Clearly something he shouldn’t be.

He reaches up and slowly turns the closest pill to reveal the label. _Cyclosporine,_ it reads, and Iwaizumi frowns. The next bottle is a standard prescription of naproxen, an anti-inflammatory drug that’s more potent than ibuprofen. Iwaizumi expected with Oikawa’s knee he’d have something of that manner. The next bottle was labeled _[Sertraline, and Iwaizumi swallowed as it automatically translated to a bottle he’s seen many veterans holding. Zoloft.](https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=sertraline+drug&stick=H4sIAAAAAAAAAGOovnz8BQMDgyYHsxC7fq6-QZVBoRIniGFobBafriXoUlSa7pyTWFwcnJmSWp5YWbz7o4vCJ-1zzx9V7ii-OfHQ4u0b1m0FABE1qwlGAAAA&sa=X&ei=xDlyVeLcLsGDyQTd8YPQBw&ved=0CK4BEMQNMBI)_

He grabs a band-aid from a small box on the lowest shelf and swiftly shuts the mirror without reading any more of the pill bottles.

 _At least they’re all prescribed to Oikawa,_ Iwaizumi thinks, settling down on the closed toilet seat. He pulls off the wadded paper and rips the band-aid open, letting both flutter into the waste basket next to the sink. He sticks on the bandage and then settles back for a moment, letting a heavy exhale pool from his lips and trickle down his chin.

 _So something is very wrong with Tooru,_ Iwaizumi thinks tiredly, _and it may have something to do with all these spirits._ He lets his eyes slip shut as his head falls back to rest on the wall.

Iwaizumi only has a moment of silence to himself before the bathroom door swings open and bangs hard on the opposite wall. He jumps at the sudden noise and spins to see Oikawa standing in the doorway, metal bat in hand and poised to swing, hair mussed and eyes wide. Their gazes meet and they stare at each other in shock.

“Oh- you’re not a robber,” Oikawa says jerkily, slowly lowering the bat. Iwaizumi blinks at him for several moments before frowning.

“What the fuck, Oikawa,” He says, brows pulled tight over his eyes. Oikawa frowns right back at him.

“I heard some weird stuff, and someone rifling through my bathroom,” He pouts, and Iwaizumi sighs.

“Did you forget I was staying here?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa shakes his head.

“I heard you having a nightmare from my room earlier, but you quieted down, so I figured you were fine,” He says offhandedly and Iwaizumi swallows roughly.

“Yeah, I just had to get a band-aid. Your rabbit scared the shit out of me,” Iwaizumi grumbles, pushing to his feet, and Oikawa takes a step back.

“Blackberry wouldn’t do that,” He says dismissively, waving a hand, and Iwaizumi snorts. Oikawa shoots him a glare and turns back towards his bedroom, baseball bat swinging loosely from his hand. Iwaizumi follows him out of the bright bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

“Do you want me to…” Oikawa hesitates for a moment before dropping his gaze and shaking his head, but Iwaizumi didn’t want to let it up.

“What? What is it, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, stepping closer to Oikawa in the dim light of the apartment. Oikawa’s eyes glitter like stones through the shadows of the hall, and if Iwaizumi isn’t mistaken, he’s pretty sure Oikawa is blushing right now.

“I was wondering if… you wanted me to stay up with you,” Oikawa says hesitantly, before pasting a smile on, and trying to act nonchalant.

“Because of your nightmare, of course,” He tacks hastily on to the end of his statement, and now Iwaizumi is blushing because Oikawa has to get up for his classes in literally two hours but he’s still willing to stay up with him.

“No, go back to your bed, you need to get up soon for your class, dumbass,” Iwaizumi grumbles, stepping past Oikawa and striding into the living room. He keeps his eyes out for Oikawa’s bunny rabbit.

“Alright, see you in the morning,” Oikawa’s words were chased by a jaw popping yawn, and Iwaizumi had to swallow one of his own.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi mutters quietly, watching Oikawa’s long legs disappear into the pale light of his room. Seconds later a small blur Iwaizumi has now realized to be Blackberry follows him through the door.

Iwaizumi turns back to the living room and settles onto the soft couch. Light was beginning to filter through the window as the sun rose and Iwaizumi pulled his blanket up with a huff. 6 AM was going to come early…

 

“Iwa-chan! Wakey wakey!” Comes Oikawa’s voice- too peppy for such an early hour. Iwaizumi covers his face with the blanket with a groan.

“Aw, don’t be like that! I made you breakfast and everything!” Oikawa prods at Iwaizumi’s leg with his icy cold fingers and Iwaizumi shudders.

“Would you stop that?!” He yelps as Oikawa wraps his frigid hand around his ankle. Oikawa snickers as he pulls away.

“Iwa-chan is grumpy in the morning, huh?” He laughs as Iwaizumi slowly pushes himself off the couch to amble into the kitchen after Oikawa. A frown is pasted on Iwaizumi’s face.

“I’m only grumpy when I barely have three hours of sleep and an idiot is making enough noise to rival a fireworks show,” He grumbles, and Oikawa faux gasps as he drops a plate leaden with food in front of Iwaizumi.

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” He says, but makes sure Iwaizumi starts eating before he even starts filling his own plate.

They eat in silence for several moments, Iwaizumi slowly waking up and Oikawa reading some book called _The Bell Jar_ across from him at the kitchen counter. Finally, when Iwaizumi deems himself awake enough, he decides to ask Oikawa something he had been contemplating early last night.

“Hey, Oikawa,” He starts with, to catch Oikawa’s attention. The other man’s eyes are bright and focused behind his glasses.

“Listen, since it’s the weekend tomorrow and you don’t have classes- I want you to stay at my home,” Iwaizumi says jerkily, dropping his gaze down to Oikawa’s loose grip on his book. Oikawa sets the book down.

“Is it because of the spirits that have been following me around?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi chances a glance up to meet his eyes. He nods.

“Well, you’re the leading expert, so I suppose I have no choice!” Oikawa sighs, leaning back in his chair after taking a sip from his orange juice. Iwaizumi is surprised that Oikawa doesn’t press more. He watches the other man get up and bring his dishes to the sink silently.

When Oikawa turns he fixes a frown on Iwaizumi and places his hands on his hips.

“Finish your breakfast Iwa-chan, and then get dressed! If I’m coming home with you you’ll have to pick me up and drop me off to work- I’ll let Yahaba have the car for the weekend,” Tooru says, and Iwaizumi shoves another forkful of food into his mouth.

Minutes later he’s dressed in jeans that are too loose for Oikawa (he had to roll the cuffs up because Oikawa’s legs literally stretch for miles) and a navy blue T-shirt that fits slightly better than the one Oikawa gave him last night.

“C’mon Iwa-chan! I don’t want to be late!” Oikawa yells, fidgeting by the door. Iwaizumi sighs as he finishes brushing his teeth and washes the toothbrush in the sink. Oikawa certainly was prepared for anything- who even has extra toothbrushes?

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Iwaizumi mutters as he paces down the hall. Oikawa smiles brightly at him before swinging the door open and practically skipping into the hall of the apartment complex. After grabbing his keys and helmets Iwaizumi follows him and shuts the door behind him.

He pauses, however, for just a moment. Something is wrong. He turns around and stares at the shut door of Oikawa’s apartment. _Something here isn’t right…_

“Iwa-chan, c’mon, let’s go!” Oikawa calls and Iwaizumi turns from the door with a huff. He follows Oikawa down the hall to a door very close to the stair well.

Tooru only has to knock obnoxiously loud on the door a few times before someone swings it open.

“Yes, hello?” A younger man asks, before breaking out into a smile at the sight of Oikawa.

“Oikawa, it’s pretty early for you, isn’t it?” He asks and Oikawa laughs.

“Unfortunately I have A block today, so I have to head in early. I’m actually gonna be gone this weekend, so you can have the keys to my car,” Oikawa tugs his keys out at this and drops them in the man’s hand.

“Alright, thanks Oikawa,” He says, and Oikawa beams at him before glancing over the man’s shoulder.

“Say, Yahaba, is Kyoutani here by any chance?” Tooru asks, and Yahaba flushes red.

“N-no, he’s not,” Yahaba splutters out, and Oikawa sighs.

“Than why are you wearing his shirt?” He asks, and turns to grin at Iwaizumi as Yahaba gapes wordlessly at him.

“Come on Iwa-chan, let’s get going!” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi barely has time to throw an apologetic smile at Yahaba before he hurries to walk next to Oikawa.

“Why did you do that?” Iwaizumi asks, knocking his shoulder into Oikawa’s. Tooru throws him an amused glance.

“They’ve been dancing around each other since high school,” He says, reaching up to push at his glasses, “Talk about sexual tension thick enough to cut,” He adds, and Iwaizumi snorts. Oikawa shoots him a smile as they step through the stairwell door.

Iwaizumi keeps an eye on Oikawa and a hand extended should he fall the entire time they descend the flight. He doesn’t like how tightly Oikawa holds onto the railing, or the way his knee folds just a little bit too much with every step.

But he swallows his words as they step into the still cool morning air. Oikawa turns his face up to the weak sunlight and Iwaizumi watches the way it catches on his eyelashes and slips down the curves of his face like water.

He drops his gaze before Tooru can notice it and strides down to his bike which, true to Oikawa’s word, was still where he had parked it last night. He brushes the morning dew off the seat with his clothes from yesterday before dropping them into the compartment under the seat. He turns to take Oikawa’s bag but the other man simply shakes his head.

“No, I’ll hold onto it,” He says, reaching for the helmet in Iwaizumi’s hand, and Iwaizumi doesn’t argue. He hands over the red helmet with a resigned sigh before sliding his own over his unruly hair.

The roar of the motorcycle is obtrusive in the early morning air and Iwaizumi _really_ hopes no one is woken up by him.

After shouted directions to Oikawa’s school he pulls out smoothly and they’re off, cutting a lonely figure in the early morning emptiness. Oikawa’s arms around him are warm in the chilly wind and he actually didn’t mind not having his jacket with him (he also knew for a fact his arms looked amazing in this shirt, which couldn’t hurt).

They pull up in front of the school with a quiet purr and Oikawa swings off the motorcycle smoothly, like he’s done it hundreds of times. He slips his helmet off and ruffles his hair back into position before smiling at Iwaizumi, who has flicked his visor up.

“I finish up here around three, so if you pick me up from here and get me back to my apartment so I can pack we can still make something of this afternoon,” Oikawa says, readjusting his glasses, and Iwaizumi tries to focus on Oikawa’s eyes instead of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ll be waiting here, don’ t take too long,” Iwaizumi grumbles, knocking his visor down, and Oikawa offers him a sunny smile and a wave as he peals out of the school parking lot. When he turns, the dozens of students filtering into the school for A block are all staring at him, and he offers them a slightly predatory grin.

“Shouldn’t you all be getting to class?” He asks, tucking his helmet under his arm, and the teenagers scurry away, whispering in low tones about the biology teacher’s hot ride. Oikawa allows himself a small grin as he steps into the building and strides down the hall.

\----

“Kageyama, could I speak with you after class for a moment?” Tooru asks quietly, studying the teenager’s face as Kageyama places a paper on his desk. Tobio doesn’t meet his eyes as he nods, and Oikawa finds his eyes drawn to Kageyama’s split lip.

 _That’s not good,_ Oikawa thinks with a frown.

The end of the period arrives far too early for poor Kageyama Tobio, who is probably praying to whatever he believes in- with this kid, it’s probably volleyball- that he can get out of this talk with Mr. Oikawa as fast as possible.

Oikawa has other things in mind.

Kageyama lingers in the back of the classroom, waving on his friend Hinata, who leaves the classroom with a confused look on his face.

 _He’s probably waiting right outside the door,_ Oikawa thinks, which persuades him to cross the room and gently shut the door. He turns back to face Kageyama.

“Is there something you need to talk to me about, Kageyama?” Oikawa asks. Even though he lives in America and was raised here, with any Japanese students Oikawa has found himself using their family names unless they’re especially close. He didn’t want to make his students feel uncomfortable.

“Not really…” Kageyama says hesitantly. Oikawa simply sits on an empty desk and waits for his student to speak.

“Kageyama,” He says slowly, quietly, and waits for his student to meet his eyes.

“If something is wrong- if someone is hurting you, if someone gave you that split lip, I can only help you if you tell me,” Oikawa says, trying to relax his body posture and appear non-threatening. Kageyama looks back down at his twisting hands, knuckles white with how tightly he’s gripping his fingers.

“Yes,” He whispers, and Oikawa leans forward, “Someone did this,” Kageyama’s eyes flick back up to meet Oikawa’s before dropping swiftly.

“Was it other students?” Tooru asks gently, and Kageyama shakes his head swiftly. _So that leaves only one other suspect,_ Oikawa thinks. _I have to be delicate about this._

“Can I tell you something?” Oikawa asks, shifting to clasp his hands in front of him. Kageyama glances up at him, surprised, before nodding.

“I once knew someone named Ushijima,” Oikawa starts, “He played volleyball like me, and it took up all his time he didn’t dedicate to his younger sister,” Kageyama looks intrigued as soon as volleyball is mentioned.

“He was solid, sturdy, a bigger guy no one would ever think of messing with. Despite this, despite being confident and strong, he was always covered in bruises. Always hurt. Some people thought he got into fights a lot- I didn’t, though,” Oikawa sighs, “It wasn’t until after he died, seventeen years old, that everyone, including myself, realized his father was beating him,” Oikawa watches Kageyama’s face carefully, noting the flinch he gave at Oikawa’s words.

“I’m not pushing you into anything,” Tooru says, and Kageyama hesitantly meets his eyes again.

“But if you need help, than I’m here. You can talk to me whenever,” At this, Oikawa pushes himself off the desk and walks over to the door, opening it smoothly and pretending he didn’t notice Hinata stumble as the surface he was leaning against suddenly disappeared.

“Remember what I said, Kageyama,” He says as Kageyama passes him, and he suddenly stops.

“You can… You can call me Tobio,” Kageyama almost whispers, and Oikawa feels a small smile threaten to pull at his lips.

“Alright Tobio-chan,” He says, ushering Kageyama out of the classroom, “I’ll see you Monday!” He offers a smile to his student and is stunned when Kageyama turns and smiles back at him- it’s small, and pulls at the splint in his lip, but Oikawa feels warm nonetheless.

Once the two students have disappeared down the hall, Hinata happily holding Kageyama’s sleeve and chattering to his friend, Oikawa hurries back into his room and packs up his bag quickly. The clock over the door reads 3:26 PM and Tooru is sure Iwaizumi is seething with rage waiting for him outside the school.

He rolls up the sleeves of his mint green sweater and makes sure nothing is stained on his khaki capris before slinging his bag over his shoulder and locking his room behind him. Helmet in one hand and bag heavy with papers that need to be graded, Oikawa strides down the hall swiftly, throwing smiles to anybody that was there to see him.

He steps through the school’s front doors looking for Iwaizumi and his big black motorcycle and is instead greeted by silvery hair and a beaming smile.

“Tooru!” Comes Suga’s greeting, and Oikawa feels a smile bloom across his face unbidden.

“Suga, it’s been so long!” He exclaims, pressing a kiss to Suga’s cheek as his good friend does the same.

“Oh, you know it has, and we don’t even have time to talk now!” Suga sighs, and Oikawa grasps his friend’s hand gently.

“Listen, if you have time,” He says quietly, and Suga leans forward, “Check out Kageyama Tobio and his family. I think something may be wrong,” Suga pulls back with a nod.

“I’ll definitely check it out,” They promise, and Oikawa squeezes his hand. He presses a chaste kiss to Suga’s forehead, who returns the favor with a kiss to his nose, before they separate with promises to meet soon. Oikawa skips down the school steps, a spring in his step put there by seeing his friend again. Iwaizumi is waiting for his down the street, away from the main entrance but with a clear view of it.

“Hey there, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, a bright smile spread on his face, and Iwaizumi tries to quell the blush in his cheeks.

“Who was that?” He asks instead, slipping his helmet over his head as Oikawa does the same.

“Oh, my friend Suga- we roomed together in college, but we met in the hospital,” Oikawa says as he swings onto the motorcycle, settling against Iwaizumi’s back comfortably.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, though,” Oikawa sounds more subdued when he says that, and Iwaizumi suddenly wishes he knew how to make Oikawa sound happier. Instead he drops his visor and pushes his kickstand up.

“Back to your apartment, right?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa presses a nod into Iwaizumi’s back. As they pull out smoothly Oikawa spots Kageyama and Hinata walking out of the school, and he waves at them lazily as he cruises by. Oikawa is pretty sure Hinata’s jaw drops to the ground.

Tooru stifles his laugh in the warm leather of Iwaizumi’s jacket and feels the (admittedly nice) shift of his back muscles as he turns out of the parking lot.

Even though Tooru can’t see him, Iwaizumi tries to repress his smile at the sound of Oikawa’s laughter.

(He fails miserably.)

Oikawa is fast inside of his apartment, Iwaizumi simply leaning against the wall as Oikawa whirls around the rooms like a hurricane. Blackberry hops over to Iwaizumi’s feet and observes him critically for a moment, eyes beady but welcoming, and Iwaizumi can’t resist crouching down and gently stroking Blackberry’s head.

Moments later, a pair of beat up white converse appears in front of Iwaizumi, and he lifts his eyes to see Oikawa looking down at him with something fond in his gaze. He swallows and tries to will his blush away.

“I have to drop Blackberry off at Yahaba’s, and then Suga will pick him up from there and watch him for the weekend,” Oikawa says, dropping to his good knee to gently pick up Blackberry, and Iwaizumi stands up with him. Oikawa holds Blackberry in his arms carefully as he moves towards the door and Iwaizumi follows him.

“Do you want me to carry one of your bags?” Iwaizumi asks as he scoops up Oikawa’s helmet and keys off the kitchen counter. Oikawa hums and shakes his head.

“I can carry them,” He says, flashing grin at Iwaizumi, “But thank you for the offer, Prince Charming,” He teases, and Iwaizumi feels himself flush again.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, and Oikawa gasps.

“Not around the children!” He exclaims in a whisper, glancing down meaningfully at the rabbit in his arms. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“Our child would not be an overgrown rat,” He says coolly, and Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him.

“Blackberry is not a rat! He’s a rabbit; a cute, sweet little bunny that loves me very much!” He says, his nose up in the air, and Iwaizumi is saved from responding Oikawa shoving Yahaba’s door open without knocking.

Oikawa’s call of “Yahaba, I’m here to drop off my baby!” dies out as they step into the living room to see a panting, red Yahaba pinned on his couch down by an equally red Kyoutani. Judging by how tight their jeans are and the dark hickeys Yahaba has spread across his clavicle, Iwaizumi hopes Oikawa knows what they just walked into.

Oikawa grins- an evil, shit-eating grin that makes a shiver run down Iwaizumi’s spine- and sets Blackberry down on the floor carefully.

“Suga will be by to pick up Blackberry in about an hour, so I hope you two can finish by then,” Oikawa practically sings, before turning and skipping out the door. Iwaizumi doesn’t even look back; he hurries into the hall after Oikawa and they descend the stairs in silence. Iwaizumi still feels uneasy with how Oikawa’s knee bends as he puts weight on it.

Oikawa’s duffel bag presents a problem. On one hand, it’s too big to fit into the seat compartment, where Iwaizumi sets Tooru’s messenger bag. But Iwaizumi doesn’t want it sticking off of Tooru’s back where something could catch it.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing else they can do.

Oikawa once again settles against Iwaizumi’s back as the other man kick starts the motorcycle. An older woman waves to them as they roar by.

The traffic is heavier now that people are actually awake, and students are everywhere. Iwaizumi sees at least a dozen of his own students out and about, even though he’s sure their classes don’t end till four.

Oikawa is relieved to see Bokuto’s bike is still on Iwaizumi’s lawn. Usually, after Iwaizumi dropped him off at home, he’d walk back to Iwaizumi’s house to get his car the next day. Iwaizumi had always promised to make sure no one stole or towed his car but Oikawa wasn’t sure if the bike would still be there since Iwaizumi stayed the night.

“Alright, get off, I’ll park this and you can go inside and drop your bags,” Iwaizumi says, pausing just outside the garage door to let Oikawa slide off and retrieve his bags from the motorcycle.

Once the other man cleared the motorcycle Iwaizumi slid off and walked it into the garage. He gave himself a moment of quiet in the dark garage- he really invited Oikawa to stay the weekend, didn’t he- before sighing and nudging out the kickstand.

When he returned to the house Oikawa was sitting on his couch and Iwaizumi dropped onto it next to him. He tried to ignore how nice the warm contact of their thighs felt.

They sit there is silence for several long seconds, heads titled back onto the couch back, nothing but a whir of a fan and Oberyn’s panting filling the air.

“So, where to now?” Oikawa asks, breaking the silence, and it takes Iwaizumi a moment to realize he doesn’t really mind.

“You can put your stuff in my room, you can sleep there, and then we’ll go out and get lunch, and we’re gonna have go to a church,” Iwaizumi says, pushing himself off the couch and turning to look down into Oikawa’s eyes.

“Ooh, Iwa-chan, take me to church,” Oikawa says teasingly, and Iwaizumi flips him off. Tooru sticks out his tongue before standing off the couch as well and bending over to pick up his bags.

Iwaizumi totally did not check out his ass.

“Lead the way, boss,” Oikawa says with a grin, and Iwaizumi frowns at him before making his way to his bedroom. It’s as Oikawa is setting down his bags that Iwaizumi remembers the numerous pill bottles he had spotted in Oikawa’s bathroom. He wants to ask the other man about it- he wants to pull them out, one by one, so Oikawa couldn’t lie and deny that anything was wrong as he was so apt to do. Iwaizumi still wasn’t sure was some of the pills were for.

“Alright, I can get settled later,” Oikawa suddenly says, straightening up with a smile. _Does he look tired? He looks more tired_. “Let’s go out for lunch,”

Iwaizumi sighs but steps out of the room and grabs his wallet and keys from the kitchen counter as he passes by it. He’ll take Oikawa out to lunch and then bring him by the cathedral.

“C’mon, I know a good café, and they’re pretty cheap,” Iwaizumi says, grabbing his helmet off the stand. He really shouldn’t have wheeled his bike into the garage.

“Iwa-chan, do you even own a car?” Oikawa suddenly asks, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. Iwaizumi glances back at him with a snort.

“I had a car, but I sold it to Daichi when I got another bike,” Iwaizumi says, and as they step out of the front door Oikawa steps up next to him.

“What happened to the first one?” Oikawa asks, eyes bright and curious behind his glasses. His eyes really were stunning- in the dimming afternoon light, his pale blue eye was speckled with darker blue flecks, and his brown eye was actually a myriad of a chocolate-y and golden brown. It’s sobering to remember how he got them, however.

Suddenly aware he had been staring Iwaizumi drops his gaze as he flushes red.

“U-um, accident. Some douche was drunk and rammed me from the side,” Iwaizumi stammers out, surprised as Oikawa grabs his arm.

“And you survived?” He asked in astonishment and Iwaizumi blinked in shock at him.

“Um, yeah, just two broken ribs, some road rash, and a dislocated shoulder,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa’s eyebrows climb high on his forehead.

“Sorry, it’s just that my aunt had a motorcycle and the first time my uncle tried it out he was smeared across the road by a pickup,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi winces at the imagery. For a moment he considers asking Oikawa if he doesn’t want to ride the motorcycle- if Iwaizumi had been forcing him to do something that has terrified him for weeks- but Oikawa skips over to the garage and stands there like an idle puppy, showing no trepidation.

_If only nothing was wrong._

\----

“Order whatever you want, I’ll pay,” Iwaizumi says as they step into the café. It’s a nice place; a bit small but in a cozy way.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts to say, his tone disapproving, but Iwaizumi shakes his head vehemently as he leads the way over to an empty table.

“Don’t argue with me, idiot, I just offered to buy your lunch,” He grumbles, pulling out a chair for Oikawa before sitting down himself.  Oikawa pouts as he pulls his bag up and sets it on the table- but he’s blushing, which is quite interesting- and Iwaizumi waves over at Michimiya. She bustles over with a bright grin on her face that Iwaizumi is more than happy to return.

She’s opening her mouth to greet him, clicking her pen idly in her hand, when her eyes suddenly land on Oikawa.

“Tooru?!” She yelps, causing Oikawa to jump from where he’s bent over his papers on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose when his eyes widen and he recognizes Michimiya.

“Yui!” He exclaims, jumping to his feet, and Michimiya swings him up in a hug. Iwaizumi is stunned to silence for a moment, and Michimiya must see it, because she returns Oikawa to his seat and smooth’s out her skirt before clearing her throat.

“How do you know each other?” Iwaizumi asks, glancing between the two reunited friends. Michimiya smiled fondly as Oikawa.

“We met while he was in the hospital,” She says, dropping a small hand onto Oikawa’s broad shoulders.

“I sprained my ankle badly, and we were waiting for a doctor when Oikawa comes wheeling out of the doors with three tall teenagers chasing after him and telling him to slow down,” Oikawa smiles up at her, but his gaze is strained, and Iwaizumi again notices the dark circles under his eyes.

“He proclaimed that he was going to a volleyball game, no matter what, and they could all just try and stop him,” She chuckles and Oikawa blushes.

“I had been in the hospital for weeks and I was tired of it,” He mumbles, before flashing Michimiya a brilliant smile, “Of course I ended up going to that volleyball game,” He says slyly, and Michimiya laughs.

“That you did,” She says, smile still stretching her lips, before tapping her pen against her notepad.

“Now, what can I get for you crazy kids?” She asks, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa rattle of their orders for her.

“I’ll be back in a jiff!” She says, and then disappears back into the kitchen. Oikawa leans back over his papers, looking much more relaxed now.

 _If only it could stay this way,_ Iwaizumi thinks.

\----

 

“Iwa-chan, why are we going into a Catholic church?” Oikawa asks as Iwaizumi holds open the big wooden door.

“Because,” He says shortly, and gestures for Oikawa to step inside.

Oikawa doesn’t.

“You realize I like boys,” He says curtly, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow.

“I could have guessed,” Iwaizumi says dryly and Oikawa frowns at him.

“I’m Jewish,” He adds, and this one stops Iwaizumi. He gapes at the other man for a moment.

“Seriously?” He asks, and Oikawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Seriously, Iwa-chan, you’re a tad slow on the uptake,” Tooru says, but with a sigh he steps into the cool interior of the large cathedral.

Despite his protests, Oikawa has to admit the church is beautiful- not as beautiful as his hometown synagogue- but the glittering windows and gorgeous architecture is a close second.

“Not that bad, huh?” Iwaizumi whispers to him as he brushes by and Oikawa glares at the back of his head.

But he follows Iwaizumi to an empty row of pews close to the alter and kneels beside the Catholic man. He tries to ignore the shiver that crawls up his spine in the cold air.

“What are we doing here?” Oikawa whispers to Iwaizumi, whose head was resting on his folded hands.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi responds without pause, and Oikawa pouts as he turns back to face the alter. He can only sit still for a few moments- it feels as if someone is running their fingers along his spine and pinching at him- and Oikawa gets the feeling that something is watching him.

He interlocks his fingers tightly together and squeezes as hard as he can, letting his eyes fall shut as he tries to breathe regularly. Pressure is building in his chest- just like when his heart was failing, the pain is the same and he can’t breathe _, why can’t I breathe?_ And it’s so cold, _why is it so cold? I can’t breathe, my lungs are filled with blood, someone help me, I can smell blood and there’s screaming someone help me please please not my sister not my little sister don’t you dare come near her stay away I won’t let you hurt her get away get away **get away get away-**_

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi’s quiet voice and his warm hand on Oikawa’s jolts Oikawa’s eyes open. He takes a deep breath, trying to blink away the thoughts that invaded his mind.

He could smell blood.

“I need to get out of here,” He whispers, and Iwaizumi nods.

“I’m right behind you,” Hajime whispers back, and Oikawa pushes himself up unsteadily and stumbles into the aisle.

The cathedral is devoid of people as Iwaizumi and Oikawa stride between the pews towards the door. All Oikawa can feel is cold- even with his arms around him he’s shivering- and the only warm part of his body is Iwaizumi’s hand pressed on his back.

When they step through the doors the cool air of the evening sweeps over Oikawa like an open flame. The more steps they take from the large cathedral, the warmer he feels.

“Are you alright?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, his hand still pressed to Oikawa’s back, and Tooru tries to fake a believable smile.

“I’m great, Iwa-chan,” He says with a wink and Iwaizumi frowns at him. They don’t say anything for the duration of the walk to the motorcycle from the cathedral but Iwaizumi wants to ask a million things- Oikawa shouldn’t have reacted like that in the church, he shouldn’t have been so cold or so pale- and Iwaizumi is beginning to realize he may be over his head with this.

“We’re going to visit a friend of mine tomorrow,” Iwaizumi says quietly as Oikawa swings onto the motorcycle behind him. He hands back Oikawa’s helmet without looking.

“Alrighty,” Tooru says. His voice is slightly muffled from the helmet.

Iwaizumi revs the motorcycle once, then twice, mainly because it Oikawa always finds it amusing.

His efforts are rewarded when Oikawa presses against his back with a chuckle, and Hajime finally pulls out from the sidewalk with the reassurance that Oikawa is okay.

Of course, he’s not, but Iwaizumi has to believe he will be.

 

 

“You take the bed, and you can shower tomorrow morning first,” Iwaizumi says as they step through Iwaizumi’s front door. Outside the light had faded to tones of purple and blue; a mountain range of bruises reached into the battered sky.

“Iwa-chan, I really don’t want to make you sleep on a couch for the second night in a row,” Oikawa frowns. Iwaizumi is silent for a moment- he watches the other man brush his bangs out of his face and turn to him before he answers.

“You usually slept on your couch in your apartment,” Hajime says, tone and wording broking no room for denial. Oikawa blinks at him in surprise.

“My, my, Iwa-chan; not quite so dull as you seem,” Is what Tooru says. Iwaizumi takes that to mean yes.

“It’s no bother, I’ve slept on harder surfaces,” Iwaizumi says, walking past Oikawa to his room to change. When he returns to his living room Oikawa is still standing in his shoes, a frown on his face.

 _He definitely looks more tired,_ Iwaizumi realizes, _he looks like he hasn’t slept in days._

“Go change,” Iwaizumi orders gruffly, nodding his head in the direction of his room, “If you’re so adamant I don’t sleep on the couch then we can share a bed,” Oikawa immediately blanches at that and shakes his head.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan, but I don’t think I like you enough for that,” He says, and Iwaizumi snorts.

“Good night, Oikawa,” Hajime says as he turns to his couch. Behind him he listens to Oikawa cross the room towards his bedroom.

“Good night, Iwa-chan,” Comes the quiet whisper, like dead leaf on a careless wind, and Iwaizumi feels a shiver run down his spine.

 _I’m definitely in over my head_ , he thinks as he pulls a blanket up to his chin. _I’m screwed_ is his last thought before his tired eyes slip shut and he falls into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

 

_Fire. Burning. Pain. Screaming._

_“Hajime, fuck, don’t you dare die! Fuck- shit, fuck, what about Hanamaki and Daichi, and, and- I can’t go back and tell them you died! Fuck you, Iwaizumi Hajime, don’t you fucking dare die-“ Matsukawa’s screams grate against Iwaizumi’s ears as his eyes fly open. He tries to drag in desperate gasps of air, tries to stop his head from spinning and ears from ringing and the agony, oh, stop the agony, **please-**_

_“I need a stretcher over here! No, he can’t fucking walk, he’s got a whole in his side the size of two dinner plates- get over here!” Matsukawa’s yells, less desperate now, break through the simmer of white hot agony that is broiling in Iwaizumi’s chest and burning through his mind._

_He sucks in what little air he can around the blood pooling in his throat as his head falls to the side. What vision he still has narrows in on the flames dancing from building to building, the whirring helicopter blades dozens of yards away, and finally a small blur on the ground- as his vision hazes in and out of focus he sees a tiny hand outstretched towards him. He blinks at it as rough hands jolt his body and he bites back a whimper._

_His eyes are glued to the small hand. He follows the wrist up to the arm, up to the charred shoulder and steaming flesh, burned and blackened by the flames that surround it like a demented halo. Blood splatters out from every direction of the body and the longer Iwaizumi stares at it- the longer he focuses in on the cracked skull and steaming brains, cooked and sliding onto the ground like boiled eggs, the contorted bones that snapped and twisted in the heat, the flesh sloughing off the body of the small child- the more confused he is._

_Where was the child standing before him, before the building exploded- where was the small child holding a bundle of flowers out to him, asking him in stilted and garbled English if he liked the colour of the sky?_

_Michimiya steps in front of him then, gaze fixed on the stretcher Matsukawa was forced onto, but her words were directed to Iwaizumi._

_“Don’t look,” She says, “You don’t want to see,”_

_But Iwaizumi lets his head loll back because he can’t see the child, what happened to them, they needed to get to safety, their parents were undoubtedly worried about them-_

_Feet from the charred body, a bundle of flowers tied crudely together lays on the ground, untarnished by the flame- the light blue dusted with ashes._

_Iwaizumi screams._

 

 

 _“Fuck!”_ Iwaizumi jerks awake with a strangled yell, lurching over and immediately burying his face in his hands.

A wet nose brushes against his elbow as he whimpers and seconds later Oberyn jumps onto his lap. His loyal dog nudges under his chin insistently and nibbles at his jaw until he pulls his face from his hands.

Still trying to breathe normal, Iwaizumi grips Oberyn’s fur tightly with his trembling hands, hiding from the dancing flames behind closed eyelids and bitten lips.

 _In and out, slowly,_ Iwaizumi recites in his mind, trying to repeat the breathing exercises his therapist taught him. Tears chafe at his eyes and he brushes them off against the side of the couch almost desperately. His lungs shudder with the effort of calming down.

A cool hand settles on his shoulder gently and Iwaizumi jumps, head whipping to look up at Oikawa. Wordlessly, the taller man pushes Hajime closer to the back of the couch, before stretching out along his back on the outside. His hands push against the back of Iwaizumi’s head insistently until the other man buries his face in Oikawa’s shoulder.

For a moment, there is nothing. Silence hangs from the ceiling and drapes along the walls like funeral shrouds, and Iwaizumi can feel himself spinning on the edge of a knife.

And then Oikawa’s voice, gentle, soft, hoarse with bitten back tears and a history of pain, breaks the silence with two words, “It’s okay,”

The shrouds are ripped down from the walls as Iwaizumi buries his face in Oikawa’s shoulder and screams.


	5. A Phonograph Epiphany (Alternatively Titled: The Kids Aren't Alright)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you want to die?”  
> “Yes. Yes, I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry i have no words oh god
> 
> but important progressions! yay! plot!
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS: huge trigger warning for this chapter. I added some new tags. discussion of suicide attempts, depression, medication- it's. um. not pretty. SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
> 
> ALSO PLEASE READ THIS i am going to a wedding this approaching weekend and will be gone Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and idk if I'll have the next chapter written by then. I'm sorry!

Iwaizumi awoke to sunlight and warmth. He pushes his nose deeper into the source of heat, skin brushing against skin, and hums out a breathe of satisfaction when his cheek comes in contact with soft heat.

Oberyn’s fur presses against one of his bare arms, and his other is asleep, pressed under a solid body Iwaizumi is wrapped around. For a moment Hajime hovers on the thin wire between full wakefulness and diving back into sleep; his mind remains muddled, thick and heavy, and his eyes droop with early morning exhaustion.

And then the back his chest is pressed against inhales suddenly and hacks out a cough and Iwaizumi is thrust, headlong, out of his in between hovering of consciousness and blissful nothingness.

“What the _fuck-_ “ Iwaizumi pulls his arm out from under Oikawa’s side as fast as he can and pushes himself away from his broad back- fuck, his dick was _totally_ just digging into Oikawa’s ass, _goddamnit,_ Oikawa was going to flip-

But the sleeping teacher didn’t wake up, simply burrowing back towards the heat of Iwaizumi to press along the curve of his body. Iwaizumi bit his lip hard as Oikawa’s ass pressed into his hard-on- _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

He forced himself to relax, seeing as being pinned to the couch by Oberyn and Oikawa was like being locked in a fortress without a key, and tried to will his boner away.

 _Dead kittens, car accidents, psychopaths,_ he thinks desperately, squeezing his eyes shut, _war, dead friends, heavy casualties._ Feeling himself becoming soft under the pressure of these thoughts, he slumped down, only for his nose to bury in sweet smelling, soft hair.

His eyes fly open as lavender and green apple overwhelms his senses in the best smelling assault of the century. _Why_ does Oikawa have to smell so amazing? What the fuck is this? The whole universe is most definitely conspiring against him at this point.

 _Not quite the whole universe,_ a quiet voice whispers in Iwaizumi’s mind, _he said he’s into boys, didn’t he? That’s gotta count for at least a few planets, right?_

With an ounce of daring Iwaizumi was sure he didn’t have, he lifted his arm carefully and draped it over Oikawa’s side. It was early, that much he could tell from the light through the window, and from how tired Oikawa has been looking he’s sure Tooru won’t be awake for a while.

So Iwaizumi lets himself relax into Tooru. His body becomes pliant and practically melts into the couch cushions, every inch of his front pressed along Oikawa’s back. His hand splays out against Oikawa’s stomach, half of it pressed to warm skin as Oikawa’s shirt rides up.

 _I’m so fucked,_ Iwaizumi thinks, even as he buries his nose back into Oikawa’s hair.

\----

“Iwaizumi… wake up, c’mon, didn’t you say we were going to see your friend today? Hajime…” A gentle whisper poked at Iwaizumi’s ears and he grunted, pushing his face into the soft warmth surrounding him.

The width of Oikawa’s back expands with a sigh and then a piercing whistle strikes molten agony through Iwaizumi’s head. His eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, one hand coming up to cover an ear while the other smacks the back of Oikawa’s head.

“Fuck you, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi growls, glaring down at the laughing man next to him on the couch. Tooru looks up at him amidst a wide smile, his eyes glowing with mirth without the hindrance of his glasses frame.

“You wouldn’t wake up, Iwa-chan,” He says, giggling as Iwaizumi grumbles under his breath.

“Now that I’m finally free of your sleep death grip, I’m going to go shower,” Oikawa adds cheekily as he slides his long legs out from under Iwaizumi’s blanket. Iwaizumi’s face violently flushes red and he mentally contemplates the best method to kill Oikawa and dispose of his body.

“Don’t worry about it, Iwa-chan; after all, I haven’t been spooned that well in forever,” Oikawa calls airily over his shoulder, waving a hand lazily in the air, and Iwaizumi throws a pillow at his head. Tooru shrieks in a very undignified manner.

“Rude!” He yells, bending over and throwing the pillow back, and Iwaizumi _totally_ didn’t check out his ass. Again.

See, the thing is, the briefs Oikawa’s wearing just really _hug_ his-

 _Not today, dirty thoughts,_ Iwaizumi thinks.

As Oikawa shuts the bathroom door shut behind him after retrieving his bag Iwaizumi pushes himself off the couch to make breakfast. After tripping over his jeans he discarded last night he considers getting dressed, but decides against it.

Oikawa’s not the only one who can play dirty.

He ties the apron Matsukawa got him around his waist and sets to making breakfast. He’s fairly simplistic; bacon and hashbrowns and a bowl of oatmeal has been his breakfast for his entire adult life, with an orange or some other fruit.

He hears the shower turn on in the bathroom and- totally, completely, without a doubt _not_ imagining Oikawa in the shower- turns on his CD player.

Yes, it may be old fashioned, but it came with the house as a radio and CD player combined, and Iwaizumi uses it quite a bit. Just the other week when he visited Matsukawa his friend gave him a CD with a compilation of songs- the kind of weird, “edgy” music Iwaizumi liked, apparently- but he hadn’t listened to it yet.

 _Now is as good a time as ever,_ Iwaizumi figures, and opens the drawer where he keeps all of his CDs. It’s right at the top in a nondescript black case and he slides it into the CD player without hesitation. All that’s written on it is _with best wishes ;)_ in Matsukawa’s curly writing. Definitely the kind of thing Issei would do.

He hits play and pulls out a pan as the first few notes of Fall Out Boy’s _20 Dollar Nosebleed_ starts filling his kitchen.

Several songs pass- including a few Panic! At The Disco songs Iwaizumi knew was Hanamaki’s influence and a My Chemical Romance song Iwaizumi was ashamed to know- before Iwaizumi hears the shower shut off in the other room. By then most of breakfast is done and all that’s left is cutting up the fruit.

He’s setting the table and reaching for the glasses when the song suddenly changes and the sounds of drumsticks hitting each other filter out of the CD player.

 _“An-nyong-ha-se-yo!”_ Iwaizumi jumps at the sound of a door slamming open. Seconds later Oikawa slides into view, eyes wide, his hair still soaked and dripping onto his bare shoulders. Iwaizumi gapes at how flat and long it is- it doesn’t look dried at all, and Oikawa is wearing nothing but a towel, okay, _what the fuck-_

 _“Sometimes you gotta bleed and know!”_ Oikawa practically shouts, singing along to the song on the CD, and Iwaizumi feels his neck warming up as his eyes dip down to Oikawa’s wet collarbones. He forces himself to look up and stare into Oikawa’s eyes- they’re bright and happy and glowing and _holy shit, can he please look at me like that for the rest of my life?_ Iwaizumi thinks semi-desperately, and then his eyes trail down Oikawa’s pale throat and catches on the hollow between his collarbones yet again.

“Get out of my kitchen and put some clothes on!” Iwaizumi yells, voice cracking because _holy shit, not now boner, don’t do this to me,_ but all his eyes have to do is drop down further, past his chest, to see the way Oikawa’s stomach caves in just a little too much, to see the way his ribs poke out just a little too much, and then his gaze catches on the long scar in the center of his chest.

Everything freezes for a moment. Iwaizumi can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t open his mouth to ask Oikawa why there’s a scar that cuts right down the middle of his chest, or why the patches of discoloration on Oikawa’s side and right pec look just like defibrillation marks.

Tooru evidently feels his stare and falters in singing, arms coming up slightly as if he isn’t sure whether or not he should cover the scars. Iwaizumi swallows hard and turns, desperately ignoring the burn in the back of his eyes. He’s seen those scars before.

“Go get dressed, Oikawa,” He says, voice thick, and Oikawa clears his throat behind him.

But he says nothing, and in a moment Iwaizumi hears his footsteps fade as he walks back to the bathroom.

 _He lied to me,_ Iwaizumi thinks, screwing his eyes shut tightly, _he told me he died during his knee surgery, not during open-heart surgery._

 _But did he?_ A treacherous voice whispers. It sounds like Matsukawa. _You simply assumed it was his surgery for his knee, but all he said was that he died during a surgery. You never let him finish._ For a moment Iwaizumi wants to vehemently deny this- but he had simply assumed, hadn’t he? He remembers, the first day they met…

_“Why do you have mismatched eyes?” They ask in unison, and blink in surprise. Oikawa’s mouth curls into a grin from behind the cloth held to his nose._

_“You first,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi frowns at him._

_“I died,” He said shortly, “In Iraq.” Oikawa blinks at him, obviously surprised, before nodding._

_“I died, too. During my surgery,” He offers, and this time it’s Iwaizumi who’s thrown._

_“Your surgery for your knee, right?” He asks, and Oikawa lowers the towel from his face in surprise._

_“You limped to the sink just now,” Iwaizumi says before Oikawa can ask, “And your gait is messed up.” Oikawa levels a stare at him for a long moment._

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi whispers, running his hand roughly through his hair. He _had_ simply assumed, hadn’t he. But Oikawa had still lied.

 _It’s not like you’ve been completely truthful with him either,_ the tiny Matsukawa says dryly. Iwaizumi sighs.

“I’ll fix this,” He mutters to himself as he pulls his apron off and stuffs it into a drawer.

Oikawa emerges from the bathroom several minutes later. This time he’s completely dressed and has sort of combed his hair back (it’s mostly just pushed behind a bright blue head band). He sits down at the table stiffly and ducks his head so he doesn’t have to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes.

Iwaizumi sits as well, for a moment; but he can feel the tension crawling up and down his spine and with how his stomach is rolling he knows he won’t be able to eat.

So he surges to his feet, knocking his chair backwards to clatter on the ground, and slams his hands down hard onto the table in front of him.

Oikawa jumps into the air and his gaze flies up to stare at Iwaizumi, wide eyed. They stare at each other, gold and green gaze meeting electric blue and brown, and then Iwaizumi reaches down and starts taking off his shirt.

Oikawa flushes bright red as inch by inch of Iwaizumi’s abs and stomach are revealed.

“What the fuck are you doing-“ Tooru splutters, waving his hands in front of his face as if to wave Iwaizumi away, but Hajime just drops his shirt on the ground and circles the table, stopping right in front of Oikawa.

The teacher’s eyes are wide and he looks terrified- but also slightly turned on, which is always a plus, and his eyes are glued to Iwaizumi’s chest, so that’s a double plus.

But that’s not what why he suddenly stripped in the middle of his kitchen.

Iwaizumi lifts his right arm and points at the large patch of scar tissue and discoloration on his side. Oikawa’s eyes catch on it and they widen.

“This is how I died,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa’s eyes flash up to meet Iwaizumi’s. “There was an explosion near one of our patrols- a bomb hidden in an abandoned house, and a hole the size of two dinner plates was blown into my side. My best friend’s femur, knee cap, and tibia shattered under rubble, and the team member with the most medical experience was left with a caved in head and chest.”

Tooru’s face is pale (although Iwaizumi isn’t sure if it hadn’t always been like that or not) and he’s staring up at Iwaizumi with shock and a bit of fear.

“I know I haven’t been completely honest with you and I’m sorry for that,” Hajime continues, “And I don’t want us to separate on account of miscommunication or lies. I don’t want to force you into telling me what exactly happened, but I want you to know I would greatly appreciate it,”

When he finishes speaking Iwaizumi’s face is brilliantly, brilliantly bright red, and he retreats to his chair on the other side of the table. He starts eating without looking up at Oikawa but- when the other man hasn’t said anything for at least a minute, which is mildly terrifying- he chances a glance up in his direction.

Tooru’s mouth is hanging open, a bright pink flush sitting high on his cheeks that Iwaizumi wants to press his lips against, and Iwaizumi feels his blush come back full force.

“Are you… going to… put your shirt back on?” Oikawa asks slowly. Iwaizumi scowls at him and stoops to pick his shirt up off the ground.

“Oh no, if you’re putting it back on for my sake don’t even bother,” Oikawa says, a grin curling on his lips, eyes alight with mischief, and Iwaizumi feels relief at the appearance of the old Tooru.

Behind them Iwaizumi’s phone suddenly vibrates loudly on the counter. Leaning back dangerously on two legs of his chair Iwaizumi pulls it off his charger and answers it once he recognizes the contact photo of Daichi.

“Good morning, Daichi,” Iwaizumi mumbles into the phone as he presses it between his shoulder and ear. Oikawa returns to eating his food, an amused look on his face as he takes in an Iwaizumi clad only in briefs across from him.

 _I’m living the life,_ he thinks smugly, wincing when his chest gives a particularly painful twinge.

Across the table Iwaizumi misses the pained expression as he shoves food slowly into his mouth, listening to Daichi speak through the phone.

 _“I’ll have a friend drive behind me and pick me up once I drop of my car in front of your house, so don’t worry about dropping me back off at home,”_ Daichi says. Iwaizumi can hear voices in the background.

“You at work?” He asks curiously, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Across from him Oikawa peels open his orange.

 _“Nah, coffee. I’ve got work off today,”_ Daichi answers, saying a polite ‘thank you’ to someone off the phone.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting,” Iwaizumi says. They exchange good-byes and then Iwaizumi drops his phone on the table to return to his breakfast. The pair finishes breakfast in silence.

“Alright, I’ll clean up the dishes and then shower and get dressed, and we can go,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa as he stands to drop his plate in the sink. Tooru shakes his head and pushes out from the table.

“No, I’ll do the dishes while you shower, it’ll be faster,” He says, and Iwaizumi frowns at him.

“It’s my house, my dishes,” He protests, and Oikawa makes a face at him.

“I think I can handle doing some dishes, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says, bumping his hip against Iwaizumi’s as he takes his plate. It takes a moment for Iwaizumi to realize Oikawa didn’t use his annoying nickname (that he kind of, sort of, _maybe_ liked).

“If you insist, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi mutters as he turns away, yelping when Oikawa smacks him in the ass with a rolled up towel. Tooru smiles widely and winks when Iwaizumi turns to glare at him.

With a blush heating his face Iwaizumi turns away and marches out of the kitchen; completely obvious to Oikawa’s avid gaze on his back muscles.

Oikawa turns back to the sink and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater. As October took a firmer hold on their home city the weather grew cooler and cooler, allowing for Oikawa to use more and more of his extensive sweater collection.

With only a few dishes and pans to clean Oikawa skips the dishwasher and fills Iwaizumi’s sink with warm water. He leans over and turns up the CD player with one hand as he dumps copious amounts of bubbles into the water with the other.

Oikawa hums along quietly to the song playing as he scrubs at the plates. While initially curling his lip at the feeling of wet food on his palms he quickly gets used to it, accustomed to it from his days working in a restaurant to help get through college.

As he’s stacking the dishes in the drying rack he hears the sound of a car engine. Oikawa grabs a dishtowel to dry his hands with as he crosses over to the living room quickly to peak through the window. A small black car pulls up to the curb in front of Iwaizumi’s house and parks there before a man gets out of the driver’s side and starts walking up to the front door.

Oikawa scrambles to the front door and wrenches it open before the man has the chance to knock. He blinks at Tooru and behind him a silver Subaru pulls up behind his car at the curb.

“You must be Daichi,” Oikawa says smoothly, leaning against the doorframe. Daichi eyes his warily.

“And you are…?” He asks, and Oikawa feels mildly amused at how wary Daichi looks. The man could probably crush Oikawa’s head between his thighs. Without sweating. His biceps rivaled Iwaizumi’s- really, was Iwaizumi’s whole friend group just men with amazing muscles? Oikawa could hope.

“Oikawa Tooru, friend of Iwaizumi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Oikawa says, extending a hand out of the door towards Daichi. When he realizes it’s the one holding the dishtowel he quickly switches and smiles as sunnily as possible at Daichi.

The other man blinked at him silently for a moment.

“Is there anyone here other than you?” He asks, and Oikawa shakes his head.

“Nope, just me and Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says. Daichi looks at him strangely before holding out a set of car keys. He dropped them into Oikawa’s palm and stepped back, gaze still trained on Oikawa’s face.

“You know,” He suddenly says, “You’re just as pretty as Iwaizumi said you were,” With that Daichi turns and walks down the sidewalk towards the silver car and slides into it.

Oikawa feels heat well up and choke him, painting his neck and face in brilliant shades of red.

_You’re just as pretty as Iwaizumi said you were-_

_You’re just as pretty as Iwaizumi said you were-_

_You’re just as pretty as Iwaizumi said you were-_

Oikawa lets out a very unattractive squeal and covers his red face with his hand.

 

 

 

Inside the silver car Daichi reaches over takes one of Suga’s hand. The blonde glances over at him and smiles before pulling out from the curb carefully.

“Who was that?” They ask, and Daichi glances back at Iwaizumi’s house.

“Someone named Oikawa Tooru, he’s friends with Iwaizumi-“ Daichi says, glancing over at Suga in alarm when they let out a gasp.

“Iwaizumi knows Tooru?!” They ask, staring at Daichi. Sawamara nods slowly.

Suga’s head falls back on their seat and Daichi glances at the road in alarm as Suga laughs.

“Is there a joke I’m missing, or…” Daichi says nervously. Suga shakes their head and smiles at Daichi.

“No, don’t worry about it,” They say, squeezing Daichi’s hand gently. They focus back on the road.

Daichi casts a single backward glance at the house at the end of the road before they turn the corner.

_Why did Oikawa say he was alone with Iwaizumi when there was someone right behind him?_

_\----_

“Oikawa? Are you okay?” Iwaizumi calls as he steps out of the bathroom, “I heard you squeal- kind of like a pig, actually,” Iwaizumi’s voice lowers towards the end as he glances into the kitchen. The dishes are all stacked in the drying rack but Oikawa is nowhere in sight. The CD player still plays music quietly.

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi calls out again as he steps into the living room. The sound of the front door shutting startles him and he turns to see Oikawa, his face covered by his hands, leaning his back against the door.

Iwaizumi crosses the room to him in a moment, hands gently grasping Oikawa’s wrists and pulling them away from his face.

“Shittykawa, what did you do this time? What’s wrong?” His voice is gentle and quiet; the concern worming up through his chest slows his movements and teases his heart into hysteria.

Oikawa’s slightly watery eyes look up to meet Iwaizumi’s and the war-veteran feels something he’s not accustomed to grow in his chest at the sight of his tears.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” Oikawa asks quietly, his blush still perched on his cheeks delicately, and Iwaizumi feels an answering flush flood his face. _Daichi must have just stopped by, then,_ he realizes, and feels slight mortification. Of course Daichi told Oikawa the most embarrassing thing Iwaizumi had said about him.

“I- ugh,” Iwaizumi sighs and hangs his head, nose barely brushing Oikawa’s fingers from where he’s still holding Oikawa’s wrists.

“Yeah, I do think you’re pretty, you dumbass,” Iwaizumi mutters. Tooru freezes in front of him and Iwaizumi feels his blush only intensify and _wow_ \- Iwaizumi sure blushes a lot around Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, you should have told me earlier! I’ve been thinking this whole time that you thought I was unattractive and it’s been seriously damaging my ego!” Oikawa says, trying for his usual tone, but the watery quality of his voice gives him away.

 _Damn,_ Iwaizumi thinks as he gently releases Oikawa’s wrists, _when was the last time someone complimented Oikawa for him to react like this?_

“C’mon, we’ve got to get going to Kiyoko’s, I told her to expect us around noon,” Iwaizumi says, glancing at the clock. Oikawa does the same.

“It takes three hours to get to your friend’s home,” Oikawa deadpans. Iwaizumi nods hesitantly. Oikawa shakes his head at him and laughs, and Iwaizumi feels relief warm his chest.

“You better bring some good music, or I’ll have to find other ways to occupy myself,” Oikawa says, winking at Iwaizumi, before breezing by him.

 _Fuck, I am definitely out of my league,_ Iwaizumi thinks.

He smiles.

\----

“How much longer?” Oikawa shouts over the sound of the wind through the open windows. Iwaizumi just tosses a smile at him and cranks the music through the speakers even louder.

Oikawa grins back at him and lets his head fall back against the seat head. The wind ruffles his hair wildly and Iwaizumi spares several long moments gazing at him. The sunlight hides the shadows under his eyes and adds colour to his otherwise pale face.

As if feeling his gaze, Oikawa turns and glances at him, eyes crinkling in a wide smile. Iwaizumi feels his heart stutter.

 _This may be more than what I bargained for,_ he realizes suddenly, and swallows roughly when Oikawa reaches across the console and gently takes Iwaizumi’s hand.

“Is this okay?” He asks. Iwaizumi nods quickly- way too quickly- before glancing back at the road to make sure he wasn’t en route to wrap around a tree or telephone pole.

He lets his whole body relax back into the car seat and presses gently down on the gas peddle. As they speed up- still within the speed limit- Oikawa leans his head towards the window. His eyes slip shut and his smile widens in the onrushing wind.

“Your hair is gonna be wrecked,” Iwaizumi says to Oikawa, fully aware the other man probably wouldn’t be able to hear his words over the wind, but the other man cracked open an eye and glanced over at Iwaizumi in amusement.

“But I’ll still look good,” Tooru says, somewhat confidently, and Iwaizumi is thrown for a moment. Oikawa’s words had lilted at the end- almost like he was asking a question disguised as a statement, and Iwaizumi felt some sour emotion well up in his mouth.

“Of course you’ll still look good,” Iwaizumi says softly, glancing over at Oikawa as the man flushes pink. But a bright smile is on his face- it’s stunning, really, how beautiful Oikawa can look even when he’s not trying.

Iwaizumi’s focus is broken when his phone rattles loudly in the cup holder he placed it in. Oikawa leans forward and shuts the music off before connecting the call and placing it on speakerphone. As Hanamaki’s voice crackled through the speakers Oikawa rolled the windows up so Iwaizumi would be able to hear.

“Hey Hanamaki, what’s up?” Iwaizumi says as clearly as he can, Oikawa holding the phone near his face over their twined fingers.

 _“Hey Iwaizumi, I actually need some advice,”_ Hanamaki answers. Iwaizumi feels the pit of his stomach drop.

“Is it Issei?” Iwaizumi asks. His concern only grows when Hanamaki confirms it.

 _“Yeah, I’m worried about him. He left for a run a little while ago, but he didn’t eat breakfast or take his meds- and he didn’t eat dinner last night, either,”_ Hanamaki says. Iwaizumi feels his good mood evaporate immediately.

“You might want to call his therapist and mention it to them. Last time this happened he didn’t tell them and- well, you know,” Iwaizumi says slightly hesitantly, glancing over at Oikawa. Tooru’s gaze is heavy with concern.

 _“Yeah, I do remember when he tried to down his entire bottle of Zoloft,”_ Hanamaki says sharply. Iwaizumi flinches and glances over at Oikawa again.

“You’re currently on speakerphone, and I’m in my car with a friend who is also on Zoloft,” Iwaizumi says curtly. Oikawa gapes at him for a moment before Hanamaki sighs in a sudden rush of static.

 _“I’m sorry. I am. Matsukawa is just- I’m scared for him. I don’t want to lose him.”_ Hanamaki says haltingly.

“Is there anything else you’ve noticed?” Iwaizumi asks to break the awkward silence. Oikawa is looking intently at the phone.

 _“He’s been really restless lately. I asked him about it but he waved me off- he said it’s because his physical therapist restricted some of his exercises, but I’m not sure. He’s been spacing out more and more and eating less,”_ Oikawa listens carefully to Hanamaki’s spiel before bringing the phone closer to his mouth.

“Hey, Hanamaki, it’s Iwaizumi’s friend. I’ve been on Zoloft for several years now. I switched after my last anti-depressant started doing exactly what you’ve described- I think you need to take him in and talk about a prescription change with his doctor and therapist,” Oikawa says, “He might just be experiencing some of the side effects and is skipping doses to try and avoid them. You should be up front about it with him and talk to him about it,” The phone line is silent for several long moments before the phone shifted and Hanamaki breathed out static.

 _“Thank you, Iwaizumi’s friend. I will. Good luck on your end, by the way,”_ Hanamaki says. Oikawa smiles down at the phone before chirping out a good bye- Iwaizumi’s gruffer good bye echoing his- and ending the call. He drops the phone back into the cup holder and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing a barrage of questions was most likely coming his way.

“I’m guessing you saw into my bathroom cabinet?” Oikawa asks quietly instead. Iwaizumi curses Hanamaki for calling him and interrupting that one moment of peace but immediately feels bad about it.

“I was looking for a band-aid,” Iwaizumi says, eyes trained on the road in front of him. Oikawa sighs before shifting his hand; Iwaizumi is struck with momentary panic that Oikawa will pull his hand away, but the other man simply moves their palms closer to one another and settles.

“Is Issei one of your war-buddies?” Oikawa asks as he relaxes back into the seat. There was still quite a drive left.

“Yeah, he was the one who resuscitated me after I died,” Iwaizumi says, “He was the soldier I mentioned that had most of his leg crushed in rubble,”

Oikawa is silent but he doesn’t look perturbed. Thoughtful, if anything.

“Why did our eye colours change after we died?” He suddenly asks. Iwaizumi carefully flicks his turning signal before changing lanes, even though the roads are empty.

“It’s kind of confusing, and Kiyoko will probably explain it better than I will, but the basics is that when humans die we pass through a door to the next plain of existence, which overlaps this one. The people who die but are resuscitated and see through the door- you and I- usually exhibit some change of having seen through the door. This always manifests in different eye colouring,” Iwaizumi explains. He turns on his windshield wipers as drops of rain begin to ping onto the glass.

“But not all people who die and are resuscitated have different coloured eyes,” Oikawa points out, eyebrows pulling close over his eyes. It was actually pretty cute.

“Nah, only people who pass through the door. You have to be dead for pretty long for that to happen- or dying for a while,” Iwaizumi says. He glances back over at Oikawa.

“Did you die during your heart surgery?” Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa stiffens next to him but doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Twice,” He says somewhat stiffly, “The second time worried the doctors- they were afraid my brain was starved of oxygen too long and I would have brain damage, but I was fine,”

This time it is Iwaizumi who remains silent for a moment; but then he breaks the tense air with a question Oikawa had been asked many times; by friends, family, doctors and therapists alike.

“Did you want to die?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

The rain pinged off the windows of the car. Nothing but their sound and the sound of the tires across the wet pavement filled the car, and they sounded muted. Even the sound of Oikawa’s breathing- usually labored, wheezing, as if he had asthma- was muted. The rain coloured shadow patterns across Iwaizumi’s face and Oikawa found himself regretting his honest words. The usual heavy scowl that adorned Hajime’s face was oddly absent- instead a blank face looked out over the dreary landscape.

“Did they put you on anti-depressants before or after your heart surgery?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. He sounds almost afraid to break the silence and it throws Oikawa; Iwaizumi has never truly sounded afraid to him before now.

“After my ACL surgery. After hearing from my mother about how dedicated I was to volleyball- I mean, the evidence was all there, I blew out the largest ligament in my knee at age fourteen playing that sport- they kept a watch on me, and as I became more and more depressed the next six months, they decided to put me on Prozac.” Oikawa’s voice is quiet as well.

“Did you ever try to kill yourself?” Iwaizumi asks. His voice is soft and almost wavers; this is a heavy topic he’s had to speak about to others before, but no matter how many times he’s said the words, he’s never grown used to having someone confirm it.

Oikawa hesitates next to him, as if he isn’t sure of the answer (or whether or not he should answer). Iwaizumi suddenly presses his turning signal and pulls into a rest stop, parking the car and then turning to face Oikawa. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

“I would consider it,” Oikawa says slowly, quietly, eyes fixed on the dashboard, “Sometimes, late at night, when my knee wouldn’t stop hurting and all I could remember was the feeling of it giving out and the doctors telling me it would be close to a miracle if I could play again, I considered it. Usually I would call my friends if I was feeling too bad- Kuroo would bike over immediately, even though he lived across town, even though his parents would be furious and he would probably be punished,” Oikawa’s eyes warm slightly at the mention of Kuroo, and Iwaizumi feels a desire to meet him. Even just to thank him. He listens as Oikawa rambles, not wishing to interrupt the other man.

“Sometimes I could convince myself to stop thinking about it by remembering my mom- my sister had moved out, and my dad was gone, and I was all she had left, but over time it became harder to use her as a reason not to do something bad,” Oikawa swallows roughly and glances over at Iwaizumi. Hajime isn’t surprised to see tears in his eyes and squeezes his hand gently.

“One day, after my second surgery to try and fix my knee, I was home alone. My mom had been told not to leave me but she got called into work, and she had to pay the bills. I was going to call Kuroo and ask him to come over so I wouldn’t be alone… But…” At this Oikawa’s voice becomes shaky and he takes a deep breath. “I took a big handful of my painkiller and hid in the bath tub. Kuroo found me minutes later- he got a text from my mom to come over and watch me. As soon as he found me he called an ambulance and I had my stomach pumped. From then on out Kuroo practically lived at my house- him or Yahaba would constantly be over whenever my mother wasn’t. I didn’t try anything again.”

Oikawa sniffles loudly and wipes at his eyes. He diverts his gaze from Iwaizumi again and stares resolutely at the ceiling of the car.

“You know, the p-pathetic thing is- when I found out my heart was failing, I didn’t even try to off myself. I just waited t-to die,” Oikawa’s voice broke and a sob forced it’s way out of him from behind bitten lips. Iwaizumi stabbed at his buckle until his seatbelt released and then lunged across the center console to wrap his arms around Oikawa’s shoulders. Tooru buried his face into Iwaizumi’s neck and grabbed at his shoulders with his hands as if desperately holding on to a lifeline.

Oikawa’s sobs- loud and heart wrenching and one of the worst things Iwaizumi has had to listen to in a long time- fill the car amid the pouring rain.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Iwaizumi finds himself murmuring into Oikawa’s hair. Tooru’s nails scrabble to find purchase on Iwaizumi’s short-sleeved shirt and despite the bite Iwaizumi welcomes it; how can he shirk off a sign that Oikawa is still there, _still alive,_ so willfully presented by Oikawa himself?

Iwaizumi has been surrounded by pain and death for too long. He has seen too many men and women and every variation between and among fall to death. He’s had to hold limp hands and meet tearful eyes and say, _deepest condolences from the U.S. Army,_ and watch loved ones of his friends fall to their knees. He’s heard every curse and God forsaken _plea_ on this green earth, every begged word and cracked scream, and he’s heard them for far too long.

“God, Oikawa, I’m sorry,” He whispers, and before he can rethink and reason with himself, before he can think it through and make a reasonable decision, he pulls back and presses a gentle kiss under Oikawa’s eye.

Tooru obviously does not want to be seen like this. He doesn’t want Iwaizumi to look at his stained cheeks and desolate eyes and see a veritable wasteland; he’s always appeared composed and articulate, like Greek arches and domes. To appear as anything less than that is a sin.

But Iwaizumi holds his face delicately in his hands, palms mapping his jaw line and thumbs tucked under his cheekbones, and Iwaizumi observes him for all that he is: a mess.

“Stop hiding, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi whispers. His eyes smolder into Oikawa’s in a warmth akin to a forest fire, destroying all the rickety walls and shredded curtains Oikawa has thrown up and tailored to hide himself.

He leans forward again and presses his lips below Oikawa’s other eye, his stunning blue one, and closes his eyes as the salt of Tooru’s sadness stings his lips.

“You’re holding all these things inside you and it’s not good, not healthy.” Iwaizumi lets his eyes slide open as he pulls away from Oikawa- only inches, though, he’s still _far_ too into Oikawa- and meets Oikawa’s mismatched gaze head on.

“You need to talk to someone and I don’t care if it’s a psychiatrist or a doctor or a homeless person or the grocery clerk- talk to someone and get these things off your chest,” He says, voice quiet but harsh, and Oikawa watches him through dewy eye lashes and blurry vision.

“Can I talk to you?” Tooru whispers hoarsely and Iwaizumi is momentarily thrown. He nods hesitantly, and then more firmly, because Oikawa is chalk full of insecurities and now is not the time to give him more doubt.

“You can call me or text me or bike right over to my house,” Iwaizumi says, “You could probably interrupt my classes and I wouldn’t really mind, if it was an emergency,” Oikawa smiles, finally, _finally,_ and the tight pocket of fear in Iwaizumi’s chest loosens somewhat. He sits back more on the driver’s side but doesn’t take his hands off Oikawa’s face, takes this small moment to let his fingertips brush the wings of Oikawa’s hair and let his palms learn the slide of his face under them.

The real kicker here is that Oikawa lets him- lets him smooth his hands over his face as if he were breakable, lets him trace the deep shadows under his eyes and the curve of his cheek bones with his thumbs- and doesn’t offer up a single objection. He simply gazes at Iwaizumi, eyes filled with something soft and gentle and entirely caused by Iwaizumi, and the veteran finds himself momentarily breathless.

 _This is dangerous,_ Iwaizumi realizes abruptly, but he doesn’t dare pull away. Something was born in Daichi’s small car, something that transcends the smell of cheap coffee and cheap air fragrance and cheap suits; something that Oikawa and Iwaizumi birthed among their tears and quiet words. Something Iwaizumi is terrified of and enamored with at the same time. _Just like Oikawa himself,_ Iwaizumi thinks, before leaning forward, his eyes fluttering between Tooru’s eyes and his lips.

Tooru’s eyes slowly slide shut, acceptance and anticipation mingling in their depths, his own face tilted towards Iwaizumi. His chest rises and falls with want and fear at the same time; Iwaizumi can feel his fluttering heartbeat under his fingertips and feels only a pinprick of reassurance at the realization that Oikawa is as terrified as he is.

“Can I kiss you?” Iwaizumi whispers, lips almost brushing Oikawa’s, and Tooru swallows roughly at his quiet words.

“Yes,” Oikawa whispers back, and Iwaizumi tilts his head forward until their lips press against each other gently.

Nothing happens outside of their car. The rain continues to ping off their glass in a hushed cacophony and the bared trees rustle their branches against each other, as if applauding the fact that Oikawa and Iwaizumi finally got their shit together _and finally kissed each other._

But inside the car is another world. At the brush of Iwaizumi’s dry lips Oikawa feels his heart stutter (which would be alarming considering this is a spare) and heat flush along his face. Iwaizumi no doubt feels it under his hands, still cupping Oikawa’s face.

Iwaizumi feels the tight knot in his chest- that has been there since he first deployed, since he died, since Matsukawa first tried to kill himself, since Daichi’s mother died, since _forever_ \- loosen up, just a tad bit.

Iwaizumi pulls back first. Only far enough to look into Oikawa’s eyes- he doesn’t dare separate himself from Tooru.

“Was that okay?” He asks quietly. Oikawa blinks at him for a moment, silently, before a shy smile slowly grows on his face. Iwaizumi feels his own heart stutter at the sight as Oikawa nods.

“Was really good,” He murmurs hoarsely. Oikawa reaches up and takes one of the hands Iwaizumi still has holding his face and twines their fingers together before smiling wider.

“Should we get going? I don’t want to make a bad first impression with your friends,” Oikawa says and Iwaizumi feels a smile break the warm heat of his face. He turns back to face the front of the car and pulls his seatbelt back over him to buckle it in.

“Well, I met her while choking on a child in an old, banged up car that smelled like dog and stale coffee, so I don’t think you can do much worse than that,” Iwaizumi says as he puts the car in reverse.

\----

Oikawa was not expecting a tiny blonde blur of embodied happiness to immediately latch onto his hand and drag him into an old, rickety looking house. He was not expecting said house to be filled with miscellaneous odd and ends that somehow emanated welcome. And he was definitely _not_ expecting one Kiyoko Shimizu to be the legendary friend of Iwa-chan’s that introduced him to the spirit banishing lifestyle.

“So you’re telling me that one of the richest people in the world, the CEO of the largest company worldwide, is a Ghost Buster,” Oikawa says, huddled together with Yachi behind a large chest in the front room. She nods vigorously, ponytail bobbing.

“She got me into it too- well, she actually saved my life, and I can’t actually see the ghosts- but she taught me a lot about the spiritual part of medicine!” She says excitably. Yachi was in her last year of nursing and had encountered a lot of dearly departed in her rounds of the hospital- some that had taken a little too much of a liking to her.

“Since I couldn’t see the ghosts or banish them, Kiyoko made me a charm to protect me from them!” At this Yachi leans forward and pulls a necklace made of black clothe out of her shirt. On the end swings a small piece of quartz with something carved into it.

Oikawa leans forward with a wince- the bent position is wreaking havoc on his knee- to get a closer look at the crystal. The carving is strange and nothing Oikawa has ever seen before.

“So it wards away the ghosts?” Oikawa asks curiously. Yachi nods enthusiastically.

“It’s like a protective shield! The ghosts can’t get close to me, so I’m always safe!” Yachi’s smile is infectious. For a moment, Oikawa considers asking her if Kiyoko could get him one of those crystals- since Iwa-chan came home with him the other day, no spirit has bothered him, but it wouldn’t hurt to be safe.

Yachi continues to describe the various knickknacks that can be found in Kiyoko’s small magic shop- that takes up the whole first floor of her house, it’s huge- to Oikawa.

In another room, the conversation is going very differently.

“He’s depressed, he’s in pain, he’s had multiple surgeries and has died twice, he’s tried to kill himself- Oikawa is literally the perfect candidate for hauntings!” Iwaizumi says, practically snarls, as he paces in Kiyoko’s office. The CEO observes him calmly.

“Barring one condition,” She says, and Iwaizumi freezes. “To your knowledge he has never had an organ transplant, correct?” Kiyoko asks and Iwaizumi shakes his head. But then he hesitates.

“He… He did have open-heart surgery, I saw the scar. And he’s taking some medication that I didn’t know the use for that could be for after transplants…” Iwaizumi hesitates uncharacteristically and tugs at his hair in frustration.

“But you’re not one hundred percent sure, and you don’t want to pressure him,” Kiyoko finishes for him and sighs as she adjusts her glasses. Iwaizumi nods even though she doesn’t need confirmation and bites his lip as they fall into silence.

“The only thing left is to continue to protect him- eventually we’ll figure this out, with time and secrets,” Kiyoko says, standing and brushing off her skirt. Iwaizumi fixed her with a steely gaze.

“Waiting and hoping isn’t like you, Shimizu,” He remarks quietly. Kiyoko observes him over the top of her glasses.

“Getting this invested in a case isn’t like you either, Hajime. It seems we are both at odds with ourselves,” Kiyoko says. Iwaizumi watches her blank expression with a twisted brow and stormy frown on his face; they were both people of action, doers, and it burned somewhere deep in Iwaizumi to know that there was nothing he could do to help Oikawa long-term right now.

“We’ll help him, Hajime. Don’t worry.” Kiyoko says, stepping forward and resting one delicately boned hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, her eyes gentle. Iwaizumi tries to give her a grateful smile- he truly does- but his fear is eating him alive.

 

 

 Barely an hour after they arrived- a meager amount of time spent at Kiyoko’s for the six hours total of driving- Iwaizumi was storming out of Kiyoko’s study with a dark expression on his face. Oikawa- who was sitting on the ground after his knee made it clear it wasn’t going to bend- was suddenly pulled up by the collar of his sweater with a squawk.

“C’mon Tooru, we’re done here,” Iwaizumi says shortly, and one glance at his furious face was enough to prevent Oikawa from asking what was wrong. With quick, practiced movements, Oikawa tugs a marker out of his bag and scribbles his phone number on Yachi’s palm.

“If you need anything, just call me!” He says as Iwaizumi practically drags him out of the building. Yachi reads the numbers on her arm in confusion before offering a small smile and a wave to the pair.

As she watches them slide into their car Kiyoko comes up behind her and rests a gentle hand on her waist. Yachi turns to face her with a beaming smile, which falters when Kiyoko frowns down at her.

“Shimizu? What’s wrong?” Yachi asks tentatively. Kiyoko reaches down and takes a hold of Yachi’s wrist loosely. She pulls the arm Oikawa had written on up towards her.

“Hitoka, what is this?” She asks, glancing over at the blonde in confusion. Yachi bites at the nail of a finger on her other hand.

“Oikawa wrote this on me before leaving- he said if I needed anything I could call him,” She explains. She glances back down at the scribbles on her arm. “I don’t get why he wrote this, though,”

Kiyoko stares down at Yachi’s arm in alarm, the blonde’s own fear and confusion growing with the expression on Shimizu’s face.

Neither of them could take their eyes off the senseless scribbles that lined the inside of Yachi’s forearm.

**Author's Note:**

> ******i usually update on the weekends and will write and update when i can******
> 
> yo I have a tumblr check me out at jurassicqueer  
> check out my girlfriend and killer beta at winter-and-her-servant  
> check out my lame ass awesome friend at queerkarasuno


End file.
